"Why only two shuttles?" said A'Tir.
"The sally port's lined with disintegrator cubes," said D'Trelna. "I ran afoul of the ones on T'Nil's Revenge. Turns that tunnel into a disintegrator chamber. The most we'll get through are two shuttles, moving at flank."
"Disintegrator cubes," said A'Tir.
"A foolish question, Egg," said K'Tran. "Why shouldn't the slaver change position and avoid our attack?"
"They've defeated every force ever sent against them, Captain," said the machine. "They are arrogant. Perhaps you are familiar with the condition?"
Gods! thought D'Trelna. That thing's baiting K'Tran.
"How do we get to the bridge?" said K'Tran after a hard look at the Egg.
"I have provided directions," said the machine.
K'Tran shook his head. "Uh-huh. D'Trelna, I don't trust your unctuous egg. It goes with us, or we take our chances against you here and now."
L'Wrona reached for the commkey, ready to direct a missile and beam salvo at the corsair. D'Trelna stopped him, loudly clearing his throat. "Our friend Egg?" said the commodore. He turned to the slaver machine. "You don't mind, do you, Egg?"
"An honor, Commodore," said the machine.
"We get inside," said L'Wrona. "Then what?"
"Race for the bridge," said Egg. "The corridors should accommodate shuttles of the dimensions shown in Implacable''s equipment roster."
"Resistance?" asked A'Tir.
"Heavy from automatic weapons systems at key intersections," said Egg. "And fierce opposition from organic units."
"Organic units?" said D'Trelna, frowning at the featureless spheroid beside him. "What organic units?"
"I've been giving the matter some thought," said the machine. "The R'Actolians are biofabs. They've had a great deal of time to perfect defenses for that ship. I suggest, given the R'Actolians antecedents, that such defenses would be organic. Most probably very lethal biofabs, held in cryogenic suspension until now. Biofabs without the R'Actolians' genius, of course. Her creations would not replicate Governor R'Actol's fatal error."
"Sort of like our friends the S'Cotar," said D'Trelna.
"Your records show they were not your friends," said Egg. "And why they didn't wipe you out is a deep mystery."
"Let's get on with it," said K'Tran impatiently.
"Agreed," said D'Trelna, swiveling his chair back to the scan. "We'll run a passby over your ship, K'Tran, on an intercept course for Alpha Prime. As we penetrate your shield perimeter, jettison your camouflage and upshield on our shield frequency. We then attack, with Egg maneuvering both ships and running shield control. Once our combined shield overlaps the sally portal, and the instant those two batteries are wiped, we launch our shuttles, rendezvous and run the portal. Clear?"
"Clear," said K'Tran.
D'Trelna leaned forward. "I'm switching you to Commander K'Raoda, who you so unkindly tried to kill at our last meeting. He'll give you a preliminary tactical feed and assign you battlelink frequencies." He touched a commkey, sending Victory Day's signal to the first officer's station. He turned to L'Wrona as the comm screen cleared. "I really hate-"
"-that slime," finished L'Wrona. "You're not alone. I could find a hundred volunteers for his volley party."
An alarm shrilled. "Unauthorized launch!" called T'Ral. "We have an unauthorized lifepod launch!"
"Recall it," ordered L'Wrona, moving to T'Ral's station.
"I have." The younger officer pointed to a telltale. Data was racing across the screen. "Negative response."
D'Trelna had come to stand on T'Ral's right, eyes on the telltale. "Making for jump point. Surprised the slaver hasn't picked it off."
The data slowed, then stopped.
"Jumped," said T'Ral. "But where?"
"No time for that now," said L'Wrona. "Why didn't you abort launch on computer warning?"
"There was no computer warning," said T'Ral, busy logging the incident.
Captain and commodore exchanged worried glances. "Get N'Trol on it," said D'Trelna. He walked with L'Wrona back toward their stations. "Mindslaver. Corsairs. That." He jerked his head toward Egg, still hovering by the flag officer's chair. "Now the computer," he said, turning for the door.
L'Wrona stared after him. "Where are you going, J'Quel? We're about to engage."
"Engage nothing till I'm back," he said as the doors opened. "I'll be in the facility."
Stephen Ames Berry
The AI War
7
The deck whirling toward him, John grabbed a railing as it flashed by-only to have his grip wrenched loose by the force of his fall. Screaming, arms and legs flailing, he fell the final hundred feet to the deck-and vanished inches above the battlesteel.
Standing behind the railing, T'Lan watched Harrison's disappearance without expression. He stood there an instant longer, drawing the logical conclusion, then busied himself at the command station.
"Sure you want to do this?" asked N'Trol. He stood at the bridge engineering station, finger poised over the Execute button on his console.
"Shield frequencies matched," said L'Wrona, ignoring N'Trol. "Stand by for linkage."
The camouflaged bulk of Victory Day filled Implacable's main screen. The cruiser was passing over the corsair, heading for the mindslaver.
"Ready for linkage," said A'Tir, her image in both N'Trol and L'Wrona's comm screens.
"Execute," said L'Wrona.
A'Tir and N'Trol both pressed a switch.
Implacable’s sensors went blind for an instant as Victory Day flared bright as a sun. When sensors cleared, they showed the corsair, shorn of her camouflage, running close to Implacable as both ships charged the great, grim bulk of Alpha Prime.
"Alpha will fire now," said Egg. It hovered beside the tactics console, tied to Implacable's computer by a tendril of soft blue light.
Thick as a shuttle, dark blue fusion beams lashed at the cruisers-and were stopped by the strangely elongated shield projected by the two ships, a sharp-tipped golden cone racing toward the mindslaver.
"What kind of a shield is that?" asked D'Trelna. He stood beside Egg, staring at the main screen.
"One mutated and strengthened by a shield-shaping algorithm, Commodore," said Egg. "Note the characteristic yellow hue."
"And the slaver's shield?" asked D'Trelna.
"Breached by our own," said Egg. "We've effectively tunneled through it.''
Now halfway to target, the shield was glowing, the portions around the beam points shading over into a sullen umber. Behind D'Trelna, alarms buzzed at engineering and command stations, warning of shield generators pushed beyond design.
"We're through!" called K'Raoda as the fire suddenly slackened. Following behind their shield, both ships had passed the point where all of Alpha Prime's port batteries could bear on them. Only two of the slaver's main batteries were firing now.
"She should stand off and blast us," said D'Trelna, watching their shield fade back into yellow.
"Were Alpha Prime entirely rational, Commodore," said Egg, "we would be dead."
"Gunnery," called L'Wrona over the commnet, "we're inside her shield. Take out that starboard battery." He switched channels. "K'Tran, take out their port battery."
Victory Day and Implacable fired together, fierce red beams exploding into slaver's nearest fusion turrets, sparking twin towers of yellow-green flame that billowed outward, then were gone. Two scorched and jagged craters marked their passing.
"I have positioned the shield's apex directly over the presumptive location of the sally port," said Egg. "We should leave now."
"You heard that, K'Tran?" D'Trelna said into the commlink.
"On our way." The corsair's face appeared in the screen. "Rendezvous in shield cone. See you on the slaver's bridge, D'Trelna-or in hell." K'Tran disappeared.
"Hell, probably," muttered D'Trelna, turning for the door. "Let's go, Egg."
The blue tendrils vanished as the slaver computer followed D'Trelna. As the two passed the ca
ptain's station, L'Wrona signed off on his log entry and stood. "Commander K'Raoda, you have the conn," he said, falling in beside D'Trelna. "Luck, T'Lei," he added.
"Luck to you too, H'Nar. Commodore," nodded K'Raoda, taking the captain's chair. He watched as the doors hissed shut behind the trio, then swiveled back to his console. "Hold her here, Commander T'Ral," he ordered. "And so advise our… allies.
"Launch control," he said into the commnet, "sortie party is on its way. Stand by shuttle."
The bridge crew watched as, a few moments later, the screen showed two armed shuttles meet and proceed toward Alpha Prime.
"Slaver is jamming all communications to the shuttles," reported K'Lana.
"What about us and the corsair cruiser?"
The comm officer shrugged. "Hasn't affected us yet."
K'Raoda glanced at his instruments. The commlink to Victory Day showed green. "Computer," he said, punching into the complink, "monitor carrier frequencies to corsair cruiser-report any change in status." He turned back to the main screen, then frowned at the silence. "Computer," he said, annoyed, "acknowledge order."
"It can't."
K'Raoda turned. A worried looking N'Trol stood beside the captain's station.
"Explain," said K'Raoda, looking back at the screen.
The shuttles were now just two silver needles receding against the mindslaver's mass.
"Someone who knows Imperial computer theory better than anyone now living has dropped a stasis algorithm into the computer.''
K'Raoda swiveled to face N'Trol, shuttles forgotten for a moment. "Impossible," he said, shaking his head. "That's a myth-a cybernetic wild tale from before the Fall. It must be some sort of system failure-maybe something latent, from when Fleet applied the overlay."
"Shuttles halfway to target and closing," reported T'Ral.
"Acknowledged," said K'Raoda.
"Fine," said N'Trol with exaggerated patience. "There's no such thing as a stasis algorithm. But something is moving through that machine." He jerked a thumb aft, in the general direction of the computer. "Something that's freezing its basic operating systems-suspending them for later reactivation."
"How do you know?"
"Because it's challenging incoming commands to affected sections in machine code I've never seen. Does that sound like a system failure to you, Commander?"
"No," admitted K'Raoda, shaking his head. "How long have we got?''
N'Trol shrugged. "Watchend, maybe. At current rate of deterioration."
"What do we need to stop this… stasis algorithm?" asked K'Raoda.
"The original algorithm," said N'Trol. "Or, faster, one that's antidotal. No one would create such a monster without having something to kill it. That would be stupid. And whoever or whatever did this is not stupid.''
"Two candidates for culprit," said K'Raoda. He glanced at the scan. Alpha Prime, minus two main batteries, was still bathing their shield in fusion fire, ineffectively. The shield indicators were still in the green. "T'Lan and the slaver machine."
"That smooth-talking Egg has my vote." said N'Trol.
"Mine, too," said K'Raoda. "One of its little bag of algorithms is keeping us alive, while the other's destroying our computer-and maybe us."
"You've got to warn the commodore," said N'Trol.
K'Raoda turned to K'Lana. "Anything?"
"Not from the shuttles. Broad-band interference pattern from the slaver. However…"
"Yes?" said K'Raoda hopefully.
"Lifts seven and eighteen are locked in transit. Engineering's dispatched work parties."
"It's starting." said N'Trol. "I better get down there." He turned for the door.
"Use the ladders," K'Raoda called after him.
"In fact, K'Lana," he continued as N'Trol left, "make that an order. All personnel not transporting heavy loads, use central access."
The jowly face of Gunnery Chief B'Tul came onto one of K'Lana's screens. "Bridge. We're getting power feed anomalies to fusion batteries three through eight. Random surges and breaks. Engineering's on it."
"Food processors in mess four are pouring out green slop," said K'Lana as the chief's face disappeared.
"What is green slop?" asked K'Raoda, feeling the bottom fall out of his tight little world. The universe might be a mad, malevolent place, but Implacable had never failed them.
"You want to talk to him?" K'Lana tapped her earpiece.
K'Raoda held up a palm. "No. Give him to the engineering duty officer.''
"I'll put him in queue," she said, turning back to her console.
"And keep trying to punch through to D'Trelna," added K'Raoda.
It was a good-sized room, square, windowless, its walls and floors of a black, marblelike substance. The long table in its center seemed more an outcropping of the floor than a separate construct-a fluted-stemmed outcropping that gleamed dully in the soft light, surrounded by seven alabaster-white armchairs.
John slouched in the one at the head of the table, facing the door. Gingerly he rubbed his throbbing right shoulder. Pain shot down his back and arm. Grimacing, he stopped rubbing. "That was cruel," he said to the S'Cotar.
"What, the way I saved your frail life, Harrison?" Guan-Sharick-as-blonde sat at the far end of the table, smirking. The smirk vanished. "T'Lan was watching you fall to your death. That close to the deck"-the transmute held two fingers barely apart-"and its flawlessly logical brain was just logging you out, Harrison-a faulty assumption that bought us perhaps a nanosecond."
John snorted. "A nanosecond, bug?"
Guan-Sharick leaned forward intently, hands folded. "T'Lan is an AI combat droid-an invincible legend out of prehistory." Those startling blue eyes met John's. "It would take a full stream from a Mark Eighty-eight to slow it, a multinuclear salvo to destroy it. It thinks faster and moves faster than anything of this time, and it is dedicated to the eradication of all free life-you, me, the K'Ronarins, this mindslaver, everything. It can decide, aim and fire in a tenth of a second. Its perfect logic is its only weakness."
"I don't believe you," said John.
"Fine," shrugged the S'Cotar, leaning back in the chair. ' 'I'll send you back to the bridge command tier and drop you again. You make it as far as the first time, and I'll teleport your sweet self back here."
John held up a hand. "No… You want to tell me how an AI combat droid infiltrated the Confederation and imitated one of its mogul's sons?"
"Doesn't look too good for us, does it?" said Guan-Sharick with a faint smile.
"Us?"
"Harrison," sighed the transmute, "a S'Cotar's quite mild compared to what you face in T'Lan-and to what you face on this vessel."
"And what is that?" asked the Terran.
"Look behind you."
John turned and saw the wall screen. On Implacable, when a screen wasn't in use, it displayed the Fleet coat-of-arms. This screen, though, held something quite different than ship-shield-and-sun: a six-fingered hand clutching the double helix of a DNA molecule.
"Crazy," he said, turning back to the S'Cotar.
"Megalomania, in Freud's schemata," said Guan-Sharick. "Mad, certainly, but also brilliant. The R'Actolians are far better geneticists than the ones who created them, R'Actol and her group."
"You'd think they could have fixed themselves," said the Terran.
"Why?" shrugged the blonde. "They see nothing wrong with themselves. It's the rest of the galaxy they want to correct.''
"And what is this charming room?" asked John, looking about.
"The Council Chamber of R'Actol." Swiveling the chair, the S'Cotar rose, pacing. "Here the Seven met to plot the extermination of mankind.'' Guan-Sharick touched the table. "From-here they planned strategy against the Empire. And when they were beaten, their thousands of dreadnoughts destroyed, sitting right where you are now, Harrison, Z'Tui, their leader, proposed they seek the immortality of their own devices." The S'Cotar stopped pacing, turning to John. "Motion carried."
"At least they were defeated
." John sat up, his shoulder now almost forgotten.
The S'Cotar shook its head. "To defeat the R'Actolian biofabs, the Empire had to build mindslavers. That, more than any other event, started the Empire slipping down the long, bloody road into the Long Night-the night the K'Ronarins are only now awakening from. And though the R'Actolians may have been defeated, they won't have really lost until the Seven are dead."
"And T'Lan is here to kill them?" asked John.
"T'Lan's here to appropriate the slaver and intercept that commwand. It would prefer to keep the Seven alive- it's difficult to run the vessel without them-not impossible, but difficult. As long as the R'Actolians are powerless, T'Lan isn't concerned with them. They're compelled not only to do as he says but to cooperate in every way. Though if a chance to regain command occurs, they'll seize it."
Guan-Sharick walked the length of the room, stopping at the chair to John's right. Hands gripping the chairback, the S'Cotar leaned forward intently. "You and I must keep the Seven alive."
John frowned. "Until the commwand's secured?"
"That certainly," nodded the S'Cotar. "But if the R'Actolians die, Harrison, we may all die. We need this dreadnought-and its secrets. It's the only ship in this universe that can stand against an AI battleglobe."
Four hundred and nine light-years away, Lifepod 38 prepared to make planetfall.
Stephen Ames Berry
The AI War
8
K'Ronar had no God. Ten thousand years of high technology had left the concept a desiccated anthropological husk.
Hell, though, thought D'Trelna, gripping his chairarms, hell is alive, well and dead ahead.
The commodore sat to Egg's right, with L'Wrona buckled into the navigator's station, just behind him. An endless expanse of battlesteel, weapons turrets and instrument pods filled the armorglass windscreen: Alpha Prime.
Must have raped ten worlds to get all that metal, thought D'Trelna. He looked up to his right. The corsair shuttle was holding station next to them, its forward fuselage just visible.
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