Both D'Linians looked at Zahava. "Retreat?" said the Terran. "Is that what you're thinking?"
"Yes," nodded S'Lat. "Back to the boats."
"And how are the boats going to get through the shield?" she asked.
The two looked at each other. "You're right." said L'Kor. He stood. "Can't go back, can't stay here, might as well-"
The blade knifed out of the fog, sliced off L'Kor's head and was gone, a tumbling corpse in its wake. The major's head rolled from its helmet, coming to rest against a sensor pod, the eyes wide, surprised. There was blood everywhere.
"Don't puke!" snapped Zahava, seeing S'Lat's face. "You'll jam the suit recycler."
The lieutenant looked away, biting her lip. "What was he saying?" she asked, after a moment. "About not staying here?"
"He was saying we have to go forward, or they'll finish us," said the Terran.
Zahava took her battletorch from her belt, flicked it on and then twisted the forward rim until the beam contracted into a fierce blue globe of light, too bright to look on. Rifle on her hip, torch held high, the Terran stepped from cover and began walking toward the Operations tower.
S'Lat caught up with her a second later, her own torch held high, rifle ready. By the time they'd reached the next turret, more troopers had fallen in beside them, torches alight, rifles ready.
Silently, they moved forward, a long thin line of blazing light cutting a swath through the yellow death. When the blade sorties came, they were met by massed fusion fire, beating them back into the mist.
Through it all. Zahava moved as though in a trance, her eyes fixed on the winking green light that marked their objective.
"You're going to get us all killed," said N'Trol, standing over D'Trelna, who sat watching the tacscan. "Always expected you would. Commodore, but I resent your doing it now, just after we fixed this ancient hulk for you."
D'Trelna looked up. "And I appreciate it," he said.
"I know you're not a line officer, N'Trol. but aren't you at all curious as to why we're not dead yet?'' He pointed at the screen. Even at minimum magnification, Devastator more than filled the scan, only a small portion of it visible. ''They should have wiped us before we'd left that satellite."
N'Trol stared at the screen, reading the datatrail. "You launched us directly at the center of the battleglobe as the satellite passed it. They're not firing…"
He looked at the commodore. "The landing force. They've taken out the guns that could have ranged us."
"Yes. And we hope the AIs have pulled out their gun crews to fight the landing party. No guns and no gun crews-we should make it. We were close when we launched, and once we're inside their shield, it'll be too late to get those guns manned-even if they've restored fusion feeds to them. We can take them out."
"And the shield?" said N'Trol, staring at the shimmering blue now filling the screen.
D'Trelna raised a finger, holding it poised over a button. "Captain L'Wrona and his party have by now installed a shield override trigger. I have only to push this little switch and that great big shield will flick off.''
"Did L'Wrona report it as accomplished?" asked the engineer.
"Communications are being jammed," said the commodore. "But L'Wrona will have done it."
"How's your signal going to get through, then?"
"It's on a little-used AI frequency."
"R'Gal," said the engineer.
"R'Gal," nodded the commodore.
"Better push that button now," said N'Trol uneasily, eyeing a red-flashing figure on the datatrail. "We're going to hit."
D'Trelna glanced at the screen, then stabbed at the switch.
Nothing happened.
Again and again, D'Trelna pushed. Devastator's shield came closer, a brilliant azure blazing in the screen.
N'Trol leaped for a communicator. "Engineering! Emergency override! Full reverse!"
"K'Lana, collision alert! Advise all decks," said D'Trelna, standing.
An alarm sounded, three sharp, ascending notes, over and over.
D'Trelna and N'Trol watched as the blue shield of the battleglobe and the faint haze marking Implacable's shield rushed toward each other.
"Can you pull us out?" asked D'Trelna, watching the board.
"No," said the engineer, also watching the board. "Can she take it?"
"No. She'll break up," said N'Trol. "Should have stayed on the satellite, Commodore."
"Man was meant to strive, not hide, Engineer," said D'Trelna, gripping his chair.
"Comforting," said N'Trol, grabbing for a railing as the shields met.
****
"First post," whispered R'Gal, floating just behind the humans. The troopers, John, and L'Wrona walked double file, hands behind their heads.
A broad ramp circled the interior of the Operations tower-a ramp blocked by the white haze of a forcefield and three blades.
R'Gal drifted to the front of the column. "Prisoners for interrogation," he said.
"Authorization and security level?" challenged the lead blade.
R'Gal gave it and waited, hoping. After what seemed a long time to the humans, the shield flicked off. "Pass," said the lead blade.
"How did you do that?" asked John as they double-timed up the ramp.
"Generic security code issued to senior command staff," said the AI. "Programmed into these ships when they were built and never changed."
"And if they had been?" said L'Wrona.
"It would have been messy," said R'Gal.
The same technique worked at the next three posts. At the last post though, the one at the entrance to the Operations center, there was a problem.
"No interrogation's scheduled or needed," said the human-adapted AI facing them. He glanced at the prisoners. "They should have been disposed of outside."
"I received a direct order from the bridge to bring them here," said R'Gal. "Let me speak with the captain."
"Come with me," said the officer. He turned to the five blades hovering in front of the forcefield. "Watch them," he said, pointing to the prisoners.
The forcefield flicked off. As the officer stepped through, R'Gal sent a bolt exploding into the field's control unit, then fired three bolts into the hostile AI. The officer staggered back, half his head blown away, and crumpled against the bulkhead, smoke curling toward the ceiling.
All five blades whirled to engage R'Gal. Blue bolts snapped and hissed, half a dozen striking R'Gal. Two of the blades went down, then the rest fell to a sudden ragged volley of fusion fire, taken from behind as the humans pulled their blasters and opened fire.
"Assault!" cried L'Wrona, leading the charge into the heart of Devastator.
Moving slowly, tilting to the right, R'Gal started to follow.
The line of light reached the tower. "Face about," ordered S'Lat with a hand signal. Zahava was busying herself at the massive double doors guarding the entrance.
The twenty-five surviving troopers turned, backs to the black metal of the tower, staring into the thinning fog.
Zahava set the blastpak's timer and stepped away, waving everyone against the tower wall.
It was a precise, almost surgical explosion, punching out all but the doors' far corners.
Zahava leading, the attackers poured into the tower, exchanging fire with the first security post, killing the guards.
With a quick underhand toss, she and S'Lat rolled grenades into the forcefield. Overloaded beyond tolerance by the twin explosions, the field disappeared in a blinding white flash.
Moving at a dead run, the troopers charged up the ramp.
"Hostile vessel approaching," reported combat control.
"Batteries to open fire," ordered the captain.
"She's directly over this sector," said the first AI. "Those guns are not manned."
"Rotate the globe, bring other batteries to bear."
"She's holding synchronous course relative to this sector," came the reply after a moment, "and continues to approach at max. She'll break
up against the shield."
"I no longer trust our shield," said the captain. "Recall gunnery personnel," he ordered, moving to shield control.
"Still at full strength?" he asked.
The shield control AI nodded. "Yes, sir. Hostile vessel has no chance of penetrating."
"Sir." said combat control, "senior blade reports humans advancing again."
The captain gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. "There's no danger from the few that are left. Whoever ordered them in should be shot. Any reports on the saboteurs?"
"Contact lost on level fifty-nine."
"Have them found-they've already hurt us twice. And give me a twenty-count to hostile vessel's destruction."
"Yes, sir."
The captain drifted to the window, watching the point where Implacable would break up, hoping to see the explosion.
"Twenty… nineteen…"
At "eleven" a security alarm began screeching. The four duty blades rushed for the doorway, only to be blown apart by a fusillade of blaster fire as the commandos charged in.
John and L'Wrona fought their way to the shield control, gunning down its AI as he opened fire, bolts flashing from his eyes.
"Pray I remember this, Harrison," said L'Wrona as John guarded his back. The captain tapped a black button three times, then pulled a small green lever.
Standing beside N'Trol, a death grip on his chairarm, D'Trelna closed his eyes as they crashed into the shield.
So this is death, he thought: silence.
Someone nudged him. "You can open your eyes. Commodore," said N'Trol. "Through some miracle their shield went down."
D'Trelna opened his and saw for the first time a battleglobe stripped of its covering. "A world of metal and guns, forged by hate," he said, recalling R'Gal's description.
He pressed the commkey. "Gunnery, cover all batteries around that Operations tower." He read the tacscan. "Mark four one seven nine. Don't fire unless fired at."
"Mr. K'Raoda," he said, turning to the first officer, "take us in low and fast. Make for that tower."
"Someone got here before us," said Zahava, taking off her helmet. Dead AIs were scattered around the shattered security post, remains still smoldering. Slinging her rifle, she drew her M11A. "And I think I know who."
"What the hell are you doing here?" said John as Zahava and the D'Linians stepped into the Operations center.
Two dead commandos lay in one corner, survival blankets draped over them. AIs were everywhere, bodies broken by blaster fire, smoldering remains filling the air with the acrid stench of scorched metal and burnt synthetics.
"I'm here," said Zahava, "because I was needed. Although certainly not to take this bridge." She slumped into a chair next to John, pistol in her helmet, helmet in her lap.
"You could have been killed," said John, his temper ebbing.
"I did what-"
"You had to do," he said, kissing her. "You're incorrigible."
"Implacable's here," said L'Wrona, pointing to the armorglass. Sliding in on her n-gravs, the big old ship came to a halt just above the tower, two miles of battlesteel blotting out the stars.
A chirping came from one of the panels. Frowning, L'Wrona looked for a moment, then pushed a switch. D'Trelna's voice boomed through the room. "That you, H'Nar?"
"And friends," said the captain.
"Excellent," continued the commodore. "My fellow corsairs, we now own an AI battleglobe."
Stephen Ames Berry
The AI War
23
"Miracle," said D'Trelna, shaking his head. He stood looking down at R'Gal. The AI lay on a medcot, eyes closed, apparently asleep.
They'd found what was left of him in the corridor outside Devastator's Operations. R'Gal had managed to return to his own structure; still John and the others had barely recognized him-part of his face was blown away, and two gaping holes in his chest emitted a weak, pulsing light. Feeling utterly helpless, John, Zahava and L'Wrona had seen R'Gal conveyed to Implacable''s Sick Bay and delivered into the hands of the taciturn senior medtech.
The commodore turned to the room's third occupant, Medtech Q'Nil. "You've a miracle, Q'Nil."
The medtech shrugged. "Luck, Commodore-and lots of help from engineering. Fortunately, we didn't need to know most of the principles involved in order to effect repairs. And some of R'Gal's systems are self-healing." He pointed to the face. "The skin, for example, grew back in one watch after we repaired the lower jaw. He should be coming around any time now-I hope."
D'Trelna pulled up a straight-backed chair and sat facing Q'Nil and the cot, hands folded over the chairback. "Are you aware, Mr. Q'Nil, that we have a S'Cotar aboard?"
Q'Nil nodded and picked up R'Gal's medchart. "Everyone knows it, Commodore," he said, beginning an entry.
"I've done nothing about it-we've had much larger problems, and every watch since we arrived here's been a fight for survival. Also, R'Gal and, indirectly, Harrison convinced me that our elusive blonde friend…"
"Blonde?" said Q'Nil, looking up from his chart.
D'Trelna smiled. "Possibly. Or a slime-green bug. Or maybe an eight-foot crustacean." He shrugged. "It really doesn't matter now. One thing I want to be sure of, though," he continued. "Implacable, her crew and I are going back to K'Ronar and flush that vipers' nest at Combine T'Lan. I want Guan-Sharick on the battleglobe, with R'Gal, Harrison and the rest, when she goes back to the AIs' home universe. They're going to need help-very special, high-powered help."
Q'Nil set the chart down on the cotside table. "I see. How long have you known?"
"Since I walked into this room, just now, and saw how you'd fixed up R'Gal," said the commodore. "It's beyond the capability of anyone on this ship-hell! of anyone in the Confederation! By saving his life, you've given yourself away-and earned my trust."
"Your limited trust, no doubt?"
"Certainly," said the commodore. "You're utterly ruthless, and you'll never be forgiven what you did to galactic humanity-killing millions of us as a conditioning exercise." His face darkened at the thought. "And although your ultimate motives are obscure…"
"They don't contravene yours, Commodore."
D'Trelna smiled coldly. "We'll see. The point is, you need us. And we need you-and him." He nodded toward R'Gal.
The ship's medtech looked at the AI. "He's my friend, strange as that may seem." The transmute turned back to D'Trelna. "The Revolt, Commodore. You should have been there. AIs, humans, a few of us and some others-we rose against the shackles my people forged and broke free."
"Shackles you'd forged?"
"We're a telepathic, telekinetic race, D'Trelna. There were never very many of us. We built machines to serve us, and we built too well." He nodded toward R'Gal. "Look at him-intellect, free will, self-replication-the product of millennia of self-directed evolution. They were designed to be self-repairing." Guan-Sharick smiled. "They brought a new, wide perspective to the term."
"Did they really create mankind?" asked the commodore, looking at the AI. R'Gal seemed to be sleeping peacefully, chest gently rising and falling.
The transmute turned back to the commodore. "They sincerely believe they did. You needn't fear for your egos, though-the story's more complex than R'Gal cares to know.
"As the AI empire expanded, they encountered humans, usually either primitives or with only rudimentary spaceflight. The AIs found them to be intelligent but wild and-the cardinal sin-often illogical. So they created a new race of humans, starting with the basics of genetic engineering through eugenics. It seemed to work-until the Revolt."
"What happened?" asked D'Trelna, intrigued.
"What they'd done," said the transmute, "was to breed not for docility, but for subterfuge, creating humans who'd happily bow and scrape before their masters even as they plotted against them. I don't think the AIs ever recovered from the shock of seeing their handiwork coming for them with beamers.
"Those bioengineered humans who fought and fled with us interbred with o
ther humans, so, in a sense, R'Gal was right-some of your genetic stock does come from AI tinkering. It doesn't seem to have hurt you."
"And Q'Nil?" asked D'Trelna. "What happened to him?"
"He was killed and replaced at the Lake of Dreams battle-replaced not by me, but by a S'Cotar. Trying to escape, I killed the S'Cotar."
"I don't believe that," said D'Trelna, eyes narrowing. "You killed Q'Nil and took his place."
Guan-Sharick shrugged. "Makes no difference, now, D'Trelna. We need each other, as you say. But you have my word-I did not kill that man. And my word is rarely given."
The commodore stared silently out the small armorglass window, then turned back to the transmute, shaking his head.
"What a mess you've made of two universes. You built AIs that enslaved everything they touched. Not content, you then created Pocsym and the S'Cotar and gave us the Biofab War. You're children-dangerous children."
"They're not children." R'Gal rose on the medcot. "They've accepted responsibility for their actions and tried to correct them. Given the variables and the time involved, Commodore, could you have done any better?" He shook his head. "I know I couldn't… Am I going to live?" asked the AI.
The transmute smiled. "With care, longer than you may want to."
"Thank you, old friend," said R'Gal.
"It seems I'm going with you, back home," added Guan-Sharick.
"Good idea," said R'Gal, standing. "And Lan-Asal?"
"He'll be staying on D'Lin, at his own request. The D'Linians need him-there'll be no help from K'Ronar, obviously."
"We have eight personnel who've opted out," said D'Trelna. "They didn't mind fighting AIs in their home universe, but the thought of returning to K'Ronar and probably being arrested with me was too much. They'll be working with Lan-Asal, lending aid and assistance to D'Lin. They're good people. I hope to come back for them-someday."
The commodore stood. "Medtech Q'Nil will be transferred to Devastator's crew. And you, R'Gal, are badly needed on that battleglobe to answer several million questions."
The commlink chirped.
"Yes?" said D'Trelna.
"Alpha Prime approaching," said K'Raoda. "K'Tran requests permission to come aboard."
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