The AI War

by Stephen Ames Berry

  “In,” said Lawrona. The two stepped back, the captain palming shut the thick blast doors. They snicked together as the first blades reached the armory.

  Lawrona touched his communicator. “Jaquel,” he said, watching thin white lines of energy slowly carve through the door, “we need out now.”

  “They’re on their way,” came Detrelna’s voice.

  “We’re here,” said Guan-Sharick. Lawrona and Ragal turned—Lan-Asal and Guan-Sharick stood between them and the troopers.

  “Get the rest out of here first,” said the captain, stepping to the small stack of gear they’d carried in. “I have something to do.”

  “Gone?” repeated Telan One, staring at the comm screen. “Where and how?”

  The woman shrugged wearily. Behind her on the pickup was the open door of Armory 7, security troops and blades flitting in and out. “Unknown.”

  “Guan-Sharick,” said Telan One. “Teleported them out.”

  “All of them? That fast?” said the other AI.

  “Maybe not alone. There were five of them during the revolt,” said Telan One. “Maybe more than one survived. All ships to intercept Implacable. And advise Confederation FleetOps that we’ve just suffered a corsair attack—give them full battlespecs.”

  “But if they find Implacable first, we won’t recover the device.”

  “It’s more important to deprive them of it,” said Telan One. “Implacable will be destroyed.”

  Panicked shouting from the comm screen. Startled, the AIs turned back to look. Their security forces were scattering, troops and blades fleeing down the corridors.

  “What… ?” began Telan One.

  The captain’s face reappeared. “They blastpaked the atomics,” she said hoarsely, glancing over her shoulder. “We—”

  The screen winked off. The AIs watched as flame filled the surface pickups

  “Can we take the aftershock?” asked Telan Two A. He’d hoped to be functional for more than a day.

  His question was answered as the ground wave shattered ceiling and walls, sending tons of earth exploding in on the command center.

  Chapter 19

  Implacable’s auditorium was packed—every off-duty crewman on the ship was there, relieved by a handful of personnel, themselves watching via comm screen.

  The chatter died as Detrelna stood, stepping to the podium.

  “As you know, we’re a hunted ship,” he began, eyes going from face to face. “Fleet and Combine forces are searching for us with a vigor previously reserved for Kotran.”

  He leaned forward, big hands gripping the podium. “We’re the only ones who know the entire truth behind the Biofab War, the only ones who know beyond any doubt that the Fleet of the One is coming, and—the reason we’re now corsair-listed—the only ones who know the truth about Combine Telan. Colonel Ragal,” he nodded to the AI, seated in the front row, “and his people have, for reasons of their own safety and effectiveness, declined to give the alarm about Combine Telan. And we’ve been very cleverly put into a position where any warning we’d give would be dismissed.

  “We have a plan,” he continued. “It’s dangerous, wild and likely to fail. But before we discuss it, know that we’ll be happy to land any of you who want out at the on a friendly planet. Most of you signed on to fight Scotar and save the Confederation, not to become ensnared in this ancient web of intrigue. If we slip you planetside, you’ll be provided with unbreakable new identities and documentation, courtesy of Colonel Ragal and Fleet Intelligence. You’re all skilled technicals—you’ll have no trouble making a good living on any of a thousand worlds.” He paused and smiled. “You’re the best. Anyone who wants out, please go now and with my blessing—briefing room four, deck three.”

  No one moved; then a rating stood—he was almost old enough to shave. “Sir, aren’t we still fighting for the Confederation?”

  “We are,” nodded the commodore. “But the Confederation doesn’t know it.”

  There was a ripple of nervous laughter.

  “Sir, we’re soldiers,” said the rating. “We took an oath to fight for the Confederation. These machines may have fooled FleetOps and the Council, but it doesn’t wipe our oath. You lead, we’ll follow.”

  As he sat back down, applause rippled through the auditorium, growing louder, until all were on their feet, clapping and cheering. Then someone struck up the Confederation anthem, the Jorin. Voice after voice picked it up, sending all five verses ringing from the high ceiling.

  “Thank you,” said Detrelna as the notes faded, a catch to his voice. Not trusting himself, he sat down.

  Lawrona stood.

  “We’ve been contacted by Kotran. We’re to rendezvous with Alpha Prime—and her sister ships.”

  That caused a stir, the whispers running through the auditorium until Lawrona cleared his throat. “The previous offer stands,” he said. “Anyone who wants off, say so. But say so now.” His eyes looked over the faces, many of them apprehensive. Kids, he thought, so many of them—more afraid to show fear than to die. Was I ever that young?

  “At the rendezvous,” continued the captain, “we’ll firm up strategy and proceed.”

  “Proceed where?”

  It was Zahava.

  The captain could have said, “Hold your questions till the end.” Tell it all now, he decided. See how they take it. “We plan,” said Lawrona, “to take Implacable through the newly opened portal from Terra One to Terra Two and from there to the AI universe. There we’ll foment revolt against the AIs in their home galaxy, helping free species they’ve enslaved for tens of thousands of years. One of those species is human.”

  It took a while for the noise to subside. Then it was Kiroda’s turn. The first officer stood, hand and head bandaged. “What about the Fleet of the One?” he asked. “And the device we recovered in the raid on Shlu?”

  “The mindslavers will fight a delaying action against the AI fleet,” said Lawrona. “They have weapons systems at least equal to those of the Fleet of the One. A delaying action by the mindslavers should be effective—the AIs won’t be prepared for them. Colonel Ragal says they may not know about the mindslavers. As for the device—we’re still testing it. Mr. Natrol, any progress?”

  “Not yet.”

  “If we hurt them badly enough at home for them to withdraw,” asked John, “what’s to prevent their returning?”

  “Utter defeat.” Ragal stood, facing the Terran. “The AI empire’s rotten to the core—it’s a corrupt parasite, feeding off of slavery. It won’t withstand the shock of a final revolt. It’s only now recovering from the last one, a hundred thousand years ago.”

  “How do you know that?” said John.

  “I was the equivalent of an Imperial viceroy back then,” said Ragal. “I know the problems the AIs face.”

  “Faced,” said John.

  Ragal shook his head. “Face, Harrison. Face. It’s a static society.”

  “I suppose any machine society—”

  “Don’t patronize me,” said Ragal. He looked around the room. “All of you. If you’ve learned anything these past days, it’s that we’re surely your equals in intellect, creativity and courage. Without us you would be dead.”

  “The created has surpassed the creator?” said the Terran.

  Ragal laughed. “No, the created has never quite equaled the creator.” He shook his head. “Oh, the hopes we had for you, the time and the resources we lavished on nurturing you. True, we used you badly, but some of us had integrity, or found it.”

  It took Detrelna to silence the uproar and clear the room.

  “That was incredibly stupid,” said Guan-Sharick to Ragal. “Why did you do it?” The two sat alone in a nearly deserted mess hall. It was the middle of thirdwatch, with most of the ship asleep.

  “Two reasons,” said the AI. “They’d have found out, sooner or later—my brethren would have dosed them with it—very effective psychwar tool. Better they find out now—now, before the shooting resumes—an
d adjust to it.”

  “Perhaps,” said the blonde. “And the other reason?”

  “Captain Lawrona’s eyes lingering on the brave young rating who so inspired the crew. Heroic chiseled face and a great tenor. The captain prides himself on knowing every face, every name.”

  “I assumed it was the lad’s rosy cheeks and eel-slim body.”

  “Lawrona finds passion through duty and death. Though it would be hilarious if he’d been lusting after you.”

  “More so had it come to a head. How did you know it was me?” said the Guan-Sharick. “Surely all those bodies masked any psychic distortion?”

  “I know you, old snake—and your ways. Nicely done, as always.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They don’t know about you yet,” Ragal continued.

  The blonde shrugged. “They accept that I’m human and believe, by implication, that Lan-Asal and I are from one of those enslaved species—a human one, of course.” She paused, looked across the mess hall, then back at Ragal. “Sorry about attacking you.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” said the AI. “No way you could recognized me, there in the dark. And it was the logical thing to do—assume I was Combine and jump me.”

  “Fortunately for you, I saved you for later interrogation.”

  “Fortunately for me Natrol found me—I’ve seen your interrogations. By the way,” he added, nodding at the few crew scattered around the mess hall, “just which one of them are you usually?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Oh, satisfy my curiosity. I really was looking for a Scotar among the crew. Many of the genuine bugs got away.”

  The blonde shook her head. “Not now. Later, maybe. After the mission.”

  “Ah, the mission,” said Ragal. “I can’t believe your mission’s changed any more than mine, down the long drag of time. Certainly we both want the Fleet of the One broken and overthrown. But you, Guan-Sharick, you want the Interdict lifted.”

  “Justice,” said the blonde softly. “I want justice.”

  The battle klaxon interrupted Ragal’s laugh.

  “Certainly this is the place,” said Detrelna, looking at the main screen. Alpha Prime fronted them, flanked by two other mindslavers.

  “Tacscan shows forty-six other mindslavers beyond visual pickup,” said Lawrona. “Positioned in standard tactical dispersal.”

  “Incoming signal, covert operations channel,” said Lakan.

  “He’s going to ask some hard questions, Hanar,” said the commodore. “Be ready to run if he doesn’t like my answers.” He pressed the commkey.

  “Welcome, Commodore,” said Kotran’s voice. “I hope you’re impressed.”

  “I am,” said the commodore, nodding as he watched the mindslavers’ weapons specs thread across the tacscan.

  “Has Fleet agreed to our terms?”

  Detrelna exchanged glances with Lawrona. The captain’s finger hovered over the emergency jump key.

  “Admiral Sagan relayed your request, Kotran,” said Detrelna, choosing his words. “They haven’t responded yet.”

  “I’m the nucleus of a very sophisticated ship, Detrelna,” said Kotran. “We know that Admiral Sagan is dead, that you’ve been declared corsair, and that the Combine Telan AIs have intercepted all warnings and messages.”

  The commodore’s shoulders slumped. “Knowing that, you still want this alliance?”

  “It makes no difference now. The vanguard of Fleet of the One has entered this quadrant and is headed for Dalin. We’re out of time.”

  “Can you stop them?” said Detrelna.

  There was a long pause. “Maybe,” came the answer. “But once they see how few we are, their main force will come through and destroy us.”

  “We have a plan,” said the commodore, and sketched it for the mindslaver.

  “Mad,” said Kotran, “but audacious—something I’d have thought of. One cruiser against an empire. And have you an equally effective solution for the Combine AIs?”

  “I have.” It was Ragal. “But not over the commnet.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Colonel Ragal, Fleet Intelligence.”

  There was a brief pause. “Very well, Colonel, Commodore. You’re all invited for dinner aboard Alpha Prime. We can discuss it then.”

  And now this, thought Detrelna. Of all the bizarre and ghastly things. “And whom will we dine with—disembodied whispers?” he asked. “And where? In some dour, instrument-laden room?”

  “Myself and a select few, all in the flesh—firm, wholesome flesh. And I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by the circumstances, Commodore. We’re not ghouls, you know—merely selectively altered life-forms.”

  “Very well,” said Detrelna, and agreed to a time. Disconnecting, he turned to Lawrona. “Dinner with the ghouls, Captain Lawrona. Wear your best side arm.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Zahava as John hurried her along the corridor to hangar deck.

  “To dine with the devil—maybe dance with him, too. Captain Kotran’s invited us for supper.”

  “No!” she said, stopping. “Are we the entrée?”

  “Dessert,” he said, pulling her by the arm. “Our dinner companions await.” He nodded to where Detrelna, Lawrona, Ragal and Guan-Sharick were boarding the shuttle.

  The hall might have been taken from the Venice of the doges: gold and linen, bright banners hung high, fourth and seventh dynasty paintings gracing the soft-textured walls, blue-liveried servants.

  Terrans and Kronarins had stopped at the double doors, staring.

  “Welcome! Come in, please,” said a smiling Kotran, standing at the head of the table, motioning with a wine goblet. He was elegantly dressed in a red-gold uniform, silver braid about his shoulders. Others rose as they entered—Imperial Marine officers, the very ones they’d fought a few days before, nodding and smiling, their admiral at Kotran’s left.

  “I’ve died and gone to hell,” muttered Detrelna, leading the way. He wore his dress uniform, insignia gleaming, the Valor Medal on a crimson chain around his neck.

  All through diner—a sumptuous meal, the conversation understandably strained—John found his eyes wandering to Kotran’s cranium. The corsair caught him at it. “Does it matter?” he asked.

  “Not anymore,” said the Terran, praying it would soon be over. Beside him a wan-looking Zahava played with her food.

  “You’re Ragal, aren’t you?” said Kotran after a desert of excellent spice cake.

  Ragal nodded.

  Kotran leaned back, studying Ragal. “You’re an AI.”

  There was a perfect silence at the table.

  “Really?” said Ragal.

  “We substituted our stasis field for the one holding Telan,” said Kotran. “Aren’t we amazing? And we debriefed him, or rather a detachable part of him. The Combine AIs know about you, Ragal, but no others. I assume you were a figure of some note, back home?”

  “Perhaps,” said Ragal.

  “And your plan to deal with the Combine infiltrators?” said Kotran.

  “Expose them.”

  “How?”

  Ragal looked at Detrelna. “Implacable must return to Prime Base, and the commodore must stand trial.”

  Detrelna set down his wine glass. “The commodore does not like that idea,” he said. “The commodore wants to return victorious, savior of humanity, cheered by the multitudes and have dinner with his family.”

  “They’d mindwipe him, Ragal,” said Guan-Sharick. “Throw him into the Tower and mindwipe him. And send the rest of the crew to a penal world.”

  The AI shook his head. “No. We’d stop it—the Watchers.”

  “So there are more of you,” said Kotran. “Surely no more than a handful?”

  “But well-placed and with certain abilities you’re unaware of. We’d save Detrelna and his men before the end.”

  “A trial,” said Lawrona. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Ragal nodded. “Public t
rial of a war hero…”

  “The day we met you told me I’d never make it to court,” said the commodore.

  “The situation back home has changed. They plan to try you in secret. We’ll ensure you testify before the whole Confederation. Tell them the whole thing, Detrelna—the Combine won’t dare stop you. Trust me. Trust us.”

  “Trust,” said Detrelna staring at the crumbs on his plate. He looked up. “Ragal, the only one who vouches for you is Guan-Sharick. You could be a Combine AI hanging me out for sorga bait.”

  Kotran frowned. “I can understand your needing Guan-Sharick, Detrelna. I can understand Guan-Sharick wanting to strike a deal to save its green hide. But a Scotar vouching for an AI?”

  “It’s a long story, Kotran,” said the commodore. “It doesn’t affect our present situation.”

  “Accepted for now,” said Kotran. “But explain this—if you take Implacable to Prime Base, what are you going to use for this daring raid of yours into the AIs’ home universe?”

  “There’s a way for the raid to go on,” said Ragal, “without Implacable. And a way for me to prove once and for all where my loyalties lie.” He looked at Kotran. “I’ll need your help.”

  “What’s this plan?” asked Detrelna.

  “I’ll help provide a substitute vessel for the trip through the portal,” said Ragal, “one that will stand a far better chance than Implacable.”

  “What sort of a ship?” said Detrelna.

  “An AI battleglobe. I propose we capture a battleglobe.”

  Chapter 20

  The vanguard was a small force, only sixty-two battleglobes, commanded by Admiral Binor aboard Devastator. They’d penetrated the great swirling eye of the Rift, regrouped, and moved toward the Dalinian system on high alert.

  The distress call had come halfway to their destination—garbled, explosions audible in the background. Advance units sent to meet the Combine ships were under attack, by… Then nothing.