"I can see the main body is moving into the base, now. Let's go," I said.
"I'm sorry, Matt; they are maintaining a three hundred sixty-degree scan from the lander. If you move the LPC, they will detect you. My scans indicate that lander is equipped with several powerful rail guns as well as many hundreds of small missiles with conventional warheads."
"Great. Now what?" I asked, frustrated.
"They could doubtless see the LPC moving, but one man among all this wreckage, I believe, will pass unnoticed."
"Okay, let's go."
"I notice you are using the plural now, too," she said in such a manner that, had she a face, I'm sure I would have seen a smile on it.
"Ava, you're the only companion I have out here, so I prefer to think of you as being with me."
"But, I am, Matt. I am always with you."
"Whoa—"
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Every time you say that, I get a sense of dėjà vu."
"That is odd," she replied, as if thinking about my comment.
"I classify it right up there with my dream being altered."
"I think we should concentrate on figuring out who our saboteur is, as he is undoubtedly in league with these people. As long as he is free, he greatly weakens our ability to defend ourselves. I think we must conclude he is a member of the LCDD."
I exited the LPC and started out across the lunar surface. I was shocked to see just how much wreckage there was. Not five meters behind the LPC lay a chunk of Barbicane the size of a house, and I mean one of those big twenty-first century jobs from the southwest US.
"Ava, did you get a look at their environmental suits?"
"Yes, clearly. They didn't sink any R&D money into their suits. That stuff is three generations old. And another thing—their communications are antiquated, too. Better yet, they don't have access to Ismay or to the hyper waves used by modern COMdes. Matt, they are using RT-211s in their suits, and old hand-held RT-135s to communicate. Do you know what this means?"
"It means our COMS are not compromised."
"And I can monitor their traffic, and every time they key one of those devices I will know where they are."
"Wow, so many vulnerabilities discovered so fast," I observed, and continued to pick my way through the debris field.
"That's a good point. Perhaps they wanted us to discover this stuff to throw us off. It could be disinformation."
"Or perhaps they thought that by using the older stuff, we'd not be able to hack them. Like computer disks no one can read."
"Computer disks?"
"You mean you don't find any reference to CDs in that vast library you have access to?"
"Not a word."
"See what I mean by effective?"
"Yes, I do. However, I know all about RT-135s."
○O○
About an hour later, after an evasive trek through the scattered wreckage, I was standing at the large ramp that descended into the vehicle garage under the BSC. The south extent was damaged. It looked like a cave-in, like the floors above were forced down into this end of the garage.
"Matt, there is a way in to the north, an access airlock for the maintenance crews."
I bounded to the north about five hundred meters when Ava told me I could now enter the garage. There was still some considerable amount of damage here, but it presented no unsurmountable obstacle. I rounded an overturned LPC and found the airlock door in the far wall. There was no power, so the access panel was dark. There was nothing to indicate whether the airlock was pressurized or not, and no signal to advise me if the interior door was open or closed.
Standard operating procedures required both doors to be closed when the airlock was not in operation, but the blast could have warped the walls and floors and the interior door may not be sealed. If that were the case and I opened this door, it could mean an explosive decompression of a large section of the BSC. Or I could be instantly entombed in EFS. I had to risk it.
I grabbed the manual override, pulled the safety latch out of the way, lifted and locked the handle, and pulled. The door opened outward with a powerful blast as the air in the chamber burst out and dissipated as mist into space. The interior door, thankfully, was closed and sealed. I climbed through the door and closed it behind me.
The interior door was designed to open outward so the interior atmospheric pressure would make it extremely difficult to open from a room with no pressure. The door was a standard sized airlock door. Given that the pressure on the other side is at one atmosphere, there would be 16002.738 kilos of pressure on the door.
If I wanted it open, I had to equalize the pressure, so I reached for the panel on the wall left of the door that contained the emergency manual controls. I threw the panel open and punched the large red button marked "emergency pressurization" and watched the readout.
Once the pressure was equalized, I again grabbed the manual override to open the inner door. The room beyond was the ready room designed for final preparations before entering the airlock. Here, I stripped out of my Ess-CEPS and entered into the BSC.
"Matt."
"Where ya been, honey?"
"Matt, the hostiles are in communication with their agent among us."
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, but he's male and located in sector nine, where everyone is, so I can't pinpoint him."
"What are they saying?"
"He is reporting my general location in sector zero. He is being told to report to the colonel that I am the focus of their attack. They believe this information will force the colonel to move all his combat elements to the center of the facility to protect me, and thus force him to cover a front of 360 degrees rather than the current one-eighty; this will spread his forces thin and make him more vulnerable. Matt, this means we can trust the colonel."
"But who can he trust?" I asked.
"He can trust us. I have informed him that you're still live. He knows not to tell anyone."
"Whoever this spy is, he has the colonel's ear. I think this rules out Walker and Dolph. Colonels don't take advice from sergeants."
"Perhaps. We'll need additional verification."
"Ava, why would these people attack you?"
"The only thing I can think of would be to steal me or many of my components. Matt, I'm a quantum leap in numerous general and AI-specific technologies. Replacing me with an AI of their own design, and harnessed as a military computer on Earth with access to the internet, the AVA could conceivably orchestrate world domination through the subjugation of the world's automation—controlling everything from global logistics, including the food and water supply, to every power grid on the planet. So, despite my being used as an obvious feint to distract the LCDD from the insurgents' search for Dr. Muller, there is a real threat here."
"Damn. So, it's paramount that you not be removed from JILL?"
"That's right, Matt. Paramount. I've made contact with the colonel over Ismay and brought him up to speed. He suggests that you arm yourself, and asks if there is any way possible to ensure there is no access to me from sector zero."
"Is there?" I asked.
"I have disabled the elevators, though they are already restricted below level five. I have closed the blast doors between five and six. However, a determined enemy with the resources and time can get through, nothing is impregnable. What we need is to upset their first plan—that of forcing the colonel to relocate to sector zero."
"I'm open to suggestions."
"We need reinforcements, we need more soldiers," she said.
"Correct me if I'm wrong but—"
"Matt, I have fifteen hundred small maintenance robots of the Mark two eleven Kilo Whiskey class here."
"Look, baby, those guys are not soldiers. Hell, they're not even armed."
"They have industrial strength lasers. Here's my plan. The hostiles are still in sector five, and moving slowly. They're in no hurry. They're waiting for a report from their spy that the colonel is
moving his forces. They will allow him to do that. When the enemy reaches the first curvilinear corridor, they will use it to circle around the colonel's position and attack him from all sides at once. With the LCDD destroyed, they can take their time reaching me, and looking for this Doctor Muller.
"Right now, the enemy is still in an airless portion of the BSC. I will deploy five hundred of the Kilo Whiskeys against them. One cut from a laser to their environmental suits and the individual will be dead or disabled—either way, he will be out of the fight. This will be a delaying action only. I don't anticipate our bots being able to stop the enemy, but it will give us time to get the other Kilo Whiskeys to the armory and provide them better weapons."
"The weapons in the armory were designed for human hands," I pointed out. "Will the little bots be able to use them?"
"Some modification will have to be made to the weapons. That is why I have already dispatched Sanyo to the armory. He was designed for micro welding and is the best we have."
"He's a bot, I take it?"
"His name is Sanyo. He, and all the bots, have the same advanced AI as does Doc."
"Great, does he have the same attitude?"
"His attitude will reflect yours, as will the attitudes of all the Kilo Whiskeys. Here, this is a list of all their names, like all sensitive entities, they prefer to be individually identified."
"They all have names?"
"Not until I got here. I named them, and they were very appreciative."
"Ava, these little guys are pretty smart—hell, Doc is a character. They think mighty quick and analyze every situation."
"What's your point, Matt?"
"They will realize the danger. What are the odds they will refuse to fight?"
"JILL is their home…the only home they have ever known. Prior to the blast, I told them not to go rushing to the site of the damage and explained what was happening. Their primary function is the care and maintenance of JILL. The invaders are preventing them from that directive and reversing all their work. They are as ready to stop the hostiles as they would any invasive corrosion."
○O○
Not far ahead, through the tangle of twisted metal and dangling wires I'd been struggling through for the last forty minutes, I could see a free and open hallway. In my excitement, I started moving faster. I got careless. As I crawled forward, my hand struck some key piece of debris knocking it out of place, which caused an avalanche of wreckage. I was thrown hard to my right then back left and forward. When I finally came to a rest, a piece of junk weighing several tons had crushed my left hand and pinned me down.
"Son of a dammed—"
"Mathew," Ava stopped me, "have you forgotten our sensitivity, professional etiquette, and vocabulary training? What if our old instructor, Mr. Sidler, heard that? You'd be BCD'd right out of the service."
"He was such a candy—hey, why would you, an AI, go through that training?"
"I...I don't know, I seem to recall—" she paused and I heard some clicking sounds, then she said, "I cannot communicate with the necessary server—communications have failed. The requested resource—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know—might be available at a later time. What the hell is that?"
"Sorry, it seems to be an automated response to questions whose answers are denied me. How's your hand?"
"It's toast. Good thing I can't feel that. I seem to be pinned down here. I can't get my hand free."
"Matt, call up the schematics for your arms and hands."
I did, and they appeared in my mind. Ava used an animated sailing ship to guide my attention. "This is the procedure by which you may disconnect your hand at the wrist. Do it now."
It was a simple mental exercise and my wrist easily came away from my ruined hand, the flesh tearing as it did.
"Matt, we're gonna have to wait on getting you a weapon, we need to get both your hands replaced. This means a trip to the repair bay."
"Doc knows I'm still alive?"
"Of course."
○O○
Thankfully, my trip to maintenance was uneventful. 'Unarmed' was an apt description of my condition.
Doc directed me to enter through the loading area for spare parts and hid me behind some large metal containers where he'd set up what he called a field hospital. He had me lie down on a cot, and he began.
He peeled back the 'skin' at the wrist of my missing hand and cut it away seventeen centimeters below the wrist, with a laser. Then he scanned my entire arm. He then moved to my right hand.
"Detach your right hand, please," he said, in a very haughty manner. I repeated the mental exercise for my right hand this time, and it, too, came off. He held the stump of my wrist up, and from his chassis he opened a long, narrow, vertical panel out from which emerged a mechanical arm with several implements at its end.
Like a Swiss army knife, he opened the end of his arm and selected a tool that looked like a needle with a tiny light at its end. He then inserted it into the stump of my wrist. After a moment, he said, "Fine."
Doc rolled over to a large metal chest of drawers and, from one of its compartments, he produced a cardboard box; from the box he withdrew an object wrapped in brown paper, and when he unfolded it, I saw he held a new hand. Moments later, I was the happy owner of a new right hand.
The left hand was a bit harder, requiring the replacement of several small, thin rods and some servos in my wrist. When he was done, he applied new skin to the left arm and the right wrist, but it was loose and flabby. Then he produced a light that, upon exposure to my new skin, caused it to shrink up and quickly became normal in appearance.
"Sergeant, try to be more careful, will you?"
"Hey, Doc, you know we're at war here, right?"
His two glowing optical receivers were looking directly at me. He had paused. I expected to hear he could not communicate with the server, but instead he said, "Yes, Sergeant, I am aware. I know that I shall soon see the wreckage of my friends and colleagues being brought in here in boxes. I am frankly distraught, but I do realize there is no recourse."
I stood up, looked at my hands and started toward the exit. I stopped and looked back. Doc had not moved. "Hey, Doc, thanks."
His eyes spun toward me, and he slowly said, "End this madness as quickly as possible, will you?"
Just as I turned toward the door, Ava's voice came over Ismay. "Matt, Doc—the five hundred have engaged the enemy at sector five, first floor only, at matrix point 5.3.1. Initial contact resulted in the removal of twenty-seven of the enemy from the battle. The enemy are regrouping now and engaging our bots with small arms and hand grenades. Our losses are mounting. Doc, the damaged are being sent your way now."
"We are ready at the RMB, and standing by," Doc said, then rolled up to me and extended a claw like hand. "Good luck, Matt."
I took his claw and we shook. "Thanks Doc. You too."
○O○
Outside in the hall as I ran toward the armory, I fired up Ismay. "Ava, are you okay?"
"Yes."
"You sounded a little upset as you made your report back there to Doc and me."
"I know. It's been a long time since I lost friends in action."
"When did you lose friends in action?"
There was the pause and the clicks again, "I cannot communicate with the necessary—"
"Stop!" I shouted. "I know the drill. I want you to diagnose the source of this automated response and eliminate it."
"I'll remove the recorded message and replace it with—"
"No, Ava, I want it gone and I want to know what's hiding in this mystery server. I want to know that some virus is not in there disclosing intel to the bad guys."
"You think I'm the spy?"
"If you have a virus, it is the spy, not you. Can you assure me that this server is clean?"
"No."
"Of course not, because you can't access it. However, for all we know, it can access you. You have got to figure it out."
"Yes, dear."
This response caused me instant and considerable disorientation. I was upset, and she disarmed me.
"Ah—Ava, in your report, you referred to the enemy casualties as removed from the battle, from here on out I need to know your best estimate of killed and wounded. Same for our casualties; from now on, report our numbers as KIA or WIA, not damaged, that term makes their loss sound almost trivial, and it's not. Besides, I need to know actual losses and those who might be returned to duty after repair."
"Of course you're right, and I prefer that, as well. Currently, enemy losses are up to thirty-three. Fourteen dead and nineteen wounded, and of those, seven appear to be critical. All the wounded are being evacuated to the lander. Our losses stand at ninety-two, seventy-six killed, and sixteen wounded, nine are critical. All our wounded are being evacuated to the RMB."
"We're getting our butts handed to us," I lamented.
"Our losses are still under a fifth, and we have not only achieved the objective of slowing their progress, but we have driven them back almost a hundred meters."
"I don't want this action to be too expensive. How we coming along arming the other thousand?"
"Sanyo reports that three hundred twenty-one are now ready. Shall I commit them to the battle?"
"No, not yet. Tell Sanyo to move faster, are there other bots he can enlist to help him?"
"All the robots capable of doing the job are in there with him now."
"Okay. Tell Sanyo I should be there in two Mikes."
○O○
When I arrived at the armory two minutes later, there was a line of Kilo Whiskey bots that seemed to disappear into the distance. They were all very similar in appearance, but each had his own identifier. Near the door was "BSC-WK AI-187-Rocky." Behind him, "BSC-WK AI-867-Popeye." Just rolling in the door was Homer, and at his side, Elmer, and on it went.
As they all saw my identifier, or perhaps they recognized my face, they all started calling out, "Hey Matt!"
"Hi, ya, Matt!"
"Yo, Matt!"
"Hey, guys," I replied, and went on in.
The Battle of Broken Moon Page 14
