The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1)

by Christopher Nuttall

  But she still wanted to save Helen, if she could.

  The girl’s hand snapped upright, then fired a tiny dart towards her. Belinda jumped to one side reflexively, then fired back one of her own from her implanted weapons. Helen didn’t move. The dart struck her in the shoulder, but nothing happened. Belinda realised, grimly, that Helen had to have augmentations capable of pushing her body beyond its natural limits ... hell, having a controlling program probably made it easier to ignore stun darts. She jumped forward, then twisted in the air as Helen’s arm blocked her. Helen had the speed of a Pathfinder, if not the strength. But with augmentation, her smaller build didn't matter.

  Belinda threw herself into the fight. Helen was faster, but there was a curious pattern to how she moved. It took Belinda a moment to realise that her earlier thought had been correct and Helen was definitely being controlled by an adaptive program. She'd fought simulated opponents during her Pathfinder training who’d had similar fighting patterns, patterns that were always predicable – eventually. Belinda’s implants started to analyse the patterns as she dodged and weaved, then tried to strike out at Helen. The girl showed no reaction when Belinda hit her arm, even though the force of the blow would have broken bones, if Helen hadn't been enhanced.

  Her implants reported an endless stream of data flowing from Helen into the main computers. The power level was surprisingly low – Helen might have had no choice, but to go to the security office even if it hadn't been locked down – but Belinda had no difficulty in reasoning it out. The adaptive program had been uploaded into the main computers and taken them over, crippling Island One. It was going to try to kill them no matter what happened to Helen. Cold rage flared through Belinda’s mind as she forced herself forward, shrugging off a blow that would have killed a normal person. The entire galaxy was at risk of falling into civil war because of ... whom?

  Concentrate on your fighting, Doug advised. You can't take your mind off her.

  Belinda nodded, then threw another punch as Helen ducked backwards. She was sure she could stop the girl, if only she could hit her hard enough to actually damage her. But Helen was too quick to be hit easily ... and she was still an innocent victim. Belinda’s mind raced, searching for options, trying to think of something – anything – that would knock Helen out long enough to get her into a stasis tube. Or wipe out her controlling implants. Or ...

  A thought occurred to her and she hesitated, then faked a move. As she had expected, Helen’s program took advantage of her mistake – and then she switched into a different plan, lunging forward. Helen’s fist caught her in the stomach – augmented or not, she felt two of her ribs crack under the blow – but it was too late. Belinda slammed into the smaller girl, knocking her to the floor, then gripped her head with both hands. She could have snapped Helen’s neck like a twig. Instead, she used her implants to force her way into Helen’s implants, through the connection the girl had used to access the main computers.

  Helen’s tactical program showed a flicker of indecision. It didn't last – the program was quick to react to the unexpected, even if it had no imagination – but it was too late. Belinda’s hacking programs forced their way into the implants, then ordered the systems to shut down completely. Helen shuddered under her, proving – if Belinda had any doubt – that she was under outside control – then went limp. The stream of data from her implants to the main computers stopped dead. Belinda relaxed, slightly, then rolled off Helen and swatted at her wristcom. It bleeped once, then stopped.

  You need to move, Pug said. The urgency in his voice shocked her. This place isn't safe.

  He’s right, Doug added. The computer will do whatever it takes to get you out of there.

  And you can't destroy the system, even if you could get access, McQueen warned. The whole system is distributed through the habitat. You’d have to vaporise Island One to destroy the network.

  Belinda nodded, then inspected Helen quickly. The girl had gone into a catatonic state, lying on the ground helplessly. She looked small and frail, so weak that Belinda felt a stab of guilt despite knowing she'd had no choice. The impulse to just sit down and cry was almost overwhelming. She found herself wiping tears from her eyes as she inspected Helen, then started to check the security computers. They were locked out. Somehow, she wasn't surprised.

  Carefully, she activated her implants ... and swore as red alarms flared up in front of her eyes. Whatever was in the main computers was very aggressive, copying itself into every network processor that attached itself to the datanet. And it wouldn't be just the drones, she knew. A simple terminal would become a spy for the computer if it linked to the network. If her implants hadn't been secure, she would have been subverted and used as a weapon herself, just like Helen. There was a reason why the Empire had shied away from any form of true artificial intelligence. They were just not human.

  And they could not be trusted, she thought. There were horror stories about alien races wiped out completely, all traces of their existence obliterated, for daring to exist in a universe with humanity. They were myths, she was sure, but she suspected they would have been true if aliens had actually existed. But humanity was alone in the universe.

  Bracing herself, she tried again. The security network was thoroughly infected, as was the command and control network, but the civilian network was barely damaged. Belinda puzzled over it for a moment, then realised the system was designed to prevent tampering, particularly from outsiders. She felt a moment of hope, which dimmed as she realised just how many limitations were also designed into the system. It was impossible to use it to take control of the habitat.

  Use it to send a message, McQueen urged. That was certainly possible. Or ...

  Shit, Belinda thought. She hadn't realised that the monitoring network could be accessed through the civilian datanet, but it made a certain kind of sense. A number of drones had started to attack the conference hall, while others were still out in space. And they were hacking away at the spokes holding the wheel to the hub. Given enough time, the habitat’s spin would rip it apart. I have to warn Glen ...

  Throwing caution to the winds, she plunged her mind back into the network.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  This made life impossible for lawmen genuinely concerned with keeping the peace and enforcing the law. Civilians were uncooperative, criminals could buy their way out of trouble or even have energetic lawmen fired, if necessary.

  - Professor Leo Caesius. The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

  “You’re a good shot, sir,” Glen said.

  “Thank you,” the Governor said. He’d taken one of the plasma cannons and, so far, had shot down seven drones. “It’s hunting and shooting in the woods that helps.”

  Glen smiled, then turned his attention back to the battlefield. The drones didn't seem to have any real tactical awareness, thanks be to God. Their only tactic seemed to be rushing forward, manipulators extended, intending to crush the humans under their treads. It made them easy targets, too easy. He couldn't escape the sense that he was missing something obvious. But there was no time to think. Stupid tactics or not, if the drones got into crushing range they were dead. Normal weapons just bounced off their metal bodies.

  He took aim at another drone and blew it into flaming debris. The plasma cannon grew warm in his hands and he eyed it carefully, then relaxed – slightly – as the weapon started to cool again. Plasma cannons had a nasty tendency to explode if allowed to overheat and an explosion, in the confined space, would be devastating. He watched two more drones shot down in quick succession, then winced as a third lanced down from high overhead and landed on top of one of the delegates. The drone was killed a second later, but it was already too late for its target. He’d had his body crushed by the impact.

  “We need to find somewhere more defensible,” General Coombs shouted. “This place isn't safe.”

  “There isn't anywhere safe,” Glen snapped back. The General wasn't wrong, but the drone
s would crunch through the houses and mansions of Island One like a hot knife through butter, no matter where they tried to hide. It was just lucky that whatever program was controlling the drones wasn't smart enough to think of using the debris as missiles. “We have to make our stand here.”

  A crack, so loud it sounded like thunder, echoed through the entire habitat ring. Glen looked upwards, unsure of what he'd just heard. Antigravity generators didn't produce sonic booms and yet he could think of no other explanation. But when he peered at the spoke, barely visible against the stars, he thought he saw pieces of debris drifting away from the structure ...

  His wristcom bleeped. “Glen! Can you hear me?”

  Glen hesitated, then clicked the switch. “I can,” he said. He silently thanked all the powers that were that he hadn't thrown the wristcom away when he’d decided it was useless – or, worse, that it could be used to track him. “What’s happening?”

  “The main computer is trying to kill us,” Belinda said. “I've stunned Helen, for the moment, but Island One is on the verge of breaking up. The drones are trying to cut the wheel away from the hub.”

  Glen swore out loud. He wasn't sure what would happen to the atmosphere if the wheel opened into space. Would gravity keep it clinging to the wheel or would it explode out into space, as would happen on a normal starship? No one had seriously considered such questions since artificial gravity had been invented. But it didn't matter, he realised. If the habitat started to come apart, the gravity generated by the spin would do the rest. They were all about to die.

  “I see,” he said. “Can you call for help?”

  “No,” Belinda said. There was a grim note to her voice that told her what she was about to say before she said it. “The fleets are exchanging fire.”

  “Fuck,” Glen said. He thought, rapidly. There were shelters, in case of a hull breach, but would there be enough of them to use? And if the drones had been subverted, were the shelters still intact? “I don’t know if we can trust the shelters.”

  He swung around and sought out Marshal Singh. “Go check the shelters,” he ordered. There should be one under every house, buried within the bedrock that made up the wheel’s innermost layers. In theory, they were safe from everything, apart from the complete destruction of the station. But could the drones bore through and tear the shelters open, exposing them to the open air? “And then get back to me.”

  “I think I can get Helen and myself out of the hub,” Belinda said. “But I can't guarantee we’d be able to get in touch with the fleets. I doubt the shuttles are still working.”

  Glen nodded. The shuttle control processors were linked to Island One. Whatever had taken over the main computer would be sure to infect the shuttles as well. They could be flown manually, if there was no other choice, but it would take longer than they had to prepare the shuttles for flight. And there was no way to get up to the shuttlebays in any case.

  Marshal Singh appeared from the basement. “The shelters are jammed,” she called. Another loud crack from high overhead underlined her words. “And something has fucked the control processors.”

  “Someone’s head is going to roll,” the Governor muttered.

  Glen rather suspected that none of them were going to have time to exact revenge, but he pushed the thought aside. There were no spacesuits in his supplies and he rather doubted they could trust any from Island One, if there were any in reach. The houses wouldn't be airtight and, in any case, the drones could smash through them. A dull quiver ran through the entire habitat ring, suggesting that one of the spokes had already been severed. It wouldn't be long before the entire structure started to tear itself apart.

  “Think outside the box,” Belinda said. “Anything inside the box will already have been countered.”

  “I know,” Glen said. Patty’s superiors, whoever they were, would have had plenty of time to work their way through the standard responses and devise a counter to each and every one of them. They needed something unexpected. But what? “I ...”

  A thought stuck him and he smiled. “Get yourself off the hub,” he ordered. “I know where we’re going.”

  Belinda sounded doubtful. “Where?”

  Glen told her.

  ***

  Belinda shook her head at the plan, but she couldn't think of a better one. The worrying possibility was that whoever was behind the plot had already thought of it and taken countermeasures. Their plan would have succeeded already if she hadn't been there, she knew, and it might still succeed. But there was nothing more she could do in the hub.

  She picked up Helen and checked her, again. The implants remained completely shut down, but Helen was barely breathing. It was quite possible she was already brain dead. Belinda looked down at the girl’s pale face for a long moment, then slung Helen over her shoulder and walked through the hatch. Outside, the nerve gas stung her face, but did no harm. She could only pray that Helen was similarly immune.

  They used Pathfinder-level tech to create her, she thought, grimly. Whoever did this to her is very well connected. But who?

  The thought tormented her as she finally reached the shuttlebay. A handful of maintenance technicians lay on the deck, their bodies torn and broken. Belinda looked around, expecting to see a drone emerging from the shadows to attack her, but saw nothing. The drones must have been redirected to the forces attacking the spokes, she decided, as she hunted through the room for spacesuits and survival balls. There would always be a handful hidden away, no matter what regulations said. People who worked in space tended to get properly paranoid about their environment – or they ended up dead.

  “I’m sorry, Helen,” she said, as she found a ball and pumped it up. “But you’ll have to go in here.”

  There was no response, but she hadn't expected one. She finished pumping up the ball, then inspected the emergency pack. The control nodes weren't scrambled, suggesting that whoever had hidden the balls in the emergency locker hadn't wanted them found by security officers. Belinda wondered, absently, if they’d been running a smuggling ring, then decided it didn't matter. All that mattered, right now, was getting off Island One before the structure started to come apart.

  The spacesuit in the next locker was in good condition, but the radio was useless. Belinda poked it twice, then gave up in annoyance and picked up the ball holding Helen. If she made it out alive, she resolved, she would have sharp words with the designer of Island One, even if she had to dig him up and reanimate him first. Linking everything together had no doubt seemed a good idea, but it had made sabotaging the entire station remarkably easy.

  She carried Helen’s ball over to the airlock, then opened the hatch and stepped inside. There was a dull hiss, then the outer hatch opened, exposing them both to the vacuum. Keeping a firm hand on the ball, she triggered the gas jets and boosted them both upwards, away from Island One. Helen’s distress beacon sprang to life, screaming for help.

  Belinda could only pray there was someone listening.

  ***

  The drones seemed to grow less frantic as the small party made their way towards the underground station. Glen looked from face to face, noting just how many had been killed in the chaos, then hurried them down into the station. The children, bringing up the rear, looked utterly terrified. The sounds from high overhead were getting louder, suggesting that the transparent canopy was on the verge of shattering. And when it did ...

  Inside, the transit tubes were waiting for them. Glen motioned for the armed men to guard the entrance, then walked over to the nearest tube and went to work. It was sealed, but not tightly enough to prevent him from inserting a multitool and powering the entrance from a single power cell. The hatch hissed open, revealing a train large enough for fifty people.

  “Get the children in here,” he called, as he clicked on the life support. Thankfully, that was a separate system. “Fill up the rest with delegates. And at least two armed men with them.”

  The children hastened past him, into the tube. Gl
en took a moment to ensure that the main control processor was completely deactivated – the main computer might reason that it could take control of the trains, override the safety precautions and then slam one train into another – then stepped back out. The transit trains were airtight, a safety precaution that had been largely forgotten in the days since Island One had been built. Glen only hoped they would remain airtight long enough for them to escape.

  He wondered, briefly, what had happened to Belinda, then opened up the next train. This one was smaller, but it still held enough room for thirty passengers. Glen hurried the remaining delegates into the tube, then turned to the third one, just as the drones started to force their way into the station. There was only one way in, he knew; the walls of the compartment were sheathed in hullmetal. If the drones had carried anything capable of burning through, they’d all be dead by now.

  “We can't hold them indefinitely,” Marshal Singh called. “Not if we want to get into the tubes.”

  “Hold them long enough,” Glen called back. He opened up the third tube, then motioned for the remaining servants and staff to get inside. “We don’t have much longer ...”

  The habitat shuddered, a dull sensation that – this time – refused to fade. Glen turned, just in time to see the drones falling back, taking to the air and flying away from the station. They must have decided the station was impregnable, he guessed, as he motioned for Singh to take her place in the tubes. He followed the drones back to the surface and looked up as the shuddering grew worse. Giant cracks were forming high overhead as the transparent canopy finally started to shatter. Beyond it, he could see one of the spokes coming apart. It wouldn't be long now.

  A deafening crash echoed through the structure as a piece of the canopy broke loose and fell inwards, striking the inner wheel with all the force of a large asteroid. The ground seemed to heave beneath his feet as shockwaves ran out in all directions, knocking over trees and buildings. He hoped – he prayed – that the hullmetal that made up the wheel’s outer layer would remain intact. If it didn't, they were dead.