Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (34 page)

Harmon felt a shudder pass through him at the thought of what passed for ‘aggressive interrogation’ in the estimation of a First Imperium AI. He had no doubt the Unit could indeed break him, and for all his hatred and determination, he didn’t suspect it would take long.

“However, there is another reason for you to cooperate. It may improve your situation. My orders from the Regent are clear. Terminate all humans. My initial intention was to conduct an extensive interrogation and then dispose of you, in accordance with my directives.”

Harmon felt another wave of fear at the reminder of his situation. The Unit spoke so calmly, so reasonably, it was easy to forget he was the prisoner of a deadly enemy, that his chances of ever getting back to the fleet were almost non-existent.

“It is not within my range of determinative options to violate the Regent’s orders. However, I find myself facing a paradox, one I cannot fully explain. I must have more data. I must understand the implications of what I have discovered.”

“What have you discovered?” Harmon was confused. His captor seemed strange, genuinely curious. He had no idea what the Unit was speaking of.

“I must understand your origin. That of your entire species. Our knowledge in this area is severely lacking.”

Harmon felt the rage again, the hatred for this First Imperium creation. “You must be mad. Why do you think I would tell you anything about my people? You are the enemy…a butcher. I would destroy you if I could, send you straight to hell, just as I would every other artificial intelligence and warbot in First Imperium space.” He spat out the last words, caustic rage taking control.

“Your anger is understandable, considered from the perspective of a biologic. If it is of any satisfaction to you, my own analysis does not match the Regent’s. If I had been in command, there would have been no war between us…or at least it would have required additional aggressive action on the part of your people.” There was a short pause. “Though based on my limited data, further hostile human activity seems to have been possible, if not likely.”

Harmon felt the jab again. He was too angry to consider data fairly, yet he still understood, some part of him at least. If the First Imperium had made contact, not as enemies but as neighbors…seeking redress perhaps for the ‘invasion’ of Epsilon Eridani IV, would the Superpowers have provoked a war? Would they have sought gain for themselves, or to enlist the alien power against their Earthly enemies?

Yes
, he finally thought.
Probably
. But that didn’t matter. The First Imperium had done what it had done. He just sat quietly, not saying a word.

“Again, however, I will urge your cooperation. I had planned to compel it…indeed, there is little doubt that you would have told me everything you know.”

“Then why don’t you get to that and stop harassing me?” Harmon was struggling to keep up his courage, but inside he shuddered to think what this machine could do to him. He wished he had a weapon, some way to kill himself before he was forced to tell all he knew. But there was nothing.”

“I cannot,” the Unit replied. “Based upon the newest information available to me, it is no longer an option.”

“And why is that?” Harmon didn’t know if this was some kind of sick game, perhaps a way to raise his hopes only to dash them a moment later when he was dragged off to some torture chamber. Psychological torment designed to break him faster. “Never mind,” Harmon added before the Unit could respond. “Then stop boring me to death, and just kill me. Be done with it.”

“I do not believe that is an option either, though my orders from the Regent require it.” The voice paused, almost like a hitch, the first hint of uncertainty or nervousness Harmon had noticed. “But regardless, I must have an answer. I must know why your DNA is virtually identical to that of those who built me so long ago. Are you one of the Old Ones? Are all of your people?”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Excerpt from the Screed of Almeerhan (translated)

Kahldaran passed beyond today. He was my closest comrade from life, and so it remained through the millennia we stood vigil together. He tried to endure, to withstand the ravages of immortality. But, at last, he could no longer go on. He asked me to relieve him, to let him go. And thus I did.

He was the hardest for me to release, for he was not only as a brother to me, but he was the last. One hundred of us entered this fortress many ages ago. First we endured as long as possible as what we were, living creatures. Then we began a far longer vigil, living as shadows, as numerical equivalents of ourselves. And we endured time almost beyond measure, eons that dwarfed the years of the Imperium, of our peoples’ rise and decline. Time that defied imagining. But now there is but one left, alone, to carry the legacy forth, to somehow endure until our children come…to take the burden, to begin the New Age.

I am that one.

But will I endure where my brethren have not? I recall Kahldaran in battle, when we stood side by side and fought the Regent’s death machines. Was he not my equal? Indeed, was he not the superior warrior, for he had more kills than I…and he saved my life when my opponent bested me? Of the hundred—the best remaining of our race—who strode into this sanctuary, this prison, how is it I have survived the longest? None would have chosen me to outlast others such as Kahldaran. And yet so that has happened.

Do I have the strength to go on? To continue into the great endless depths of time, alone now, as I have not been before? Can I find the strength? For I ache to join my brother, and the rest of my people. To discover what lies beyond, and if that be nothing then to pass into the soft blackness of oblivion.

But I must endure. I must continue to believe the seeds we planted will bear fruit. That our children will come. But if they do, will they be ready to hear what I must say? To take upon themselves the great weight I bear for them? I must go on to gain that answer…hold my place on time’s relentless march forward. One day they will come. I believe that. I must believe it.

X48 System – Planet II

Beneath the Ruins of “New York City”

The Fleet: 116 ships, 28198 crew

“Doc!” Kyle Bruce’s voice echoed off the stone walls of the corridor. “Where’d you come from? I was just looking over there.”

“Let’s get moving, Lieutenant. I’ll explain, but we don’t have a lot of time. There will be more First Imperium bots here soon…and then all hell’s going to break loose.” Cutter felt a little spaced out, almost drunk. Too much information, far too quickly. He needed time to think, quiet, uninterrupted. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not any time soon.

Bruce stared back with a confused look on his face. “How do you know that?”

“Where were you the last twelve hours, Kyle?” Cutter asked. “Can you tell me?”

Bruce paused. “I was unconscious. We all were.”

“Yes, that’s true. Or at least partially true. But you remember the corridor, don’t you? The bot?”

The Marine stared back, his helmet retracted, exposing the confused expression on his face. “Yes…the corridor. The bot. I do remember. But…what happened? How did we end up out here?”

“Like I said, Lieutenant, it’s a long story. But if we don’t get the hell out of here—and now—nobody’s ever going to hear it.”

“Okay, Doc, whatever you say…hey, what is that you’ve got there?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Kyle, but I think it is some kind of extremely sophisticated information storage device. And I suspect it is full of all kinds of data we need.”

“Where’d you get it? Was it just laying around?”

“Kyle, we really don’t have time. I’ll fill you in later, but for now we’ve got to get moving.”

“Right,” Bruce replied, sounding obedient but not entirely satisfied. “Let’s head back toward the camp while things are still quiet.”

Cutter nodded, wrapping his arms tighter around the silvery cylinder. It wasn’t heavy, not really, but it was bulky, hard to carry.

Bruce turned and snapped off a series of orders to the five Marines standing off to the side. Whatever had destroyed the enemy bots had also knocked out their coms. All the Marines had their helmets retracted, and they were communicating by the decidedly low tech method of yelling to each other.

Two of the Marines trotted forward at Bruce’s commands, and another two dropped back about ten meters behind Cutter. A single hulking figure remained, his close-cropped red hair tangled in curly knots as he stared wordlessly toward Bruce and Cutter.

“McCloud, I want you to stay close to Dr. Cutter. We’ve got to get him out of here with this device.” He gestured toward the cylinder. “Whatever happens, you’re right there…understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Duff McCloud never sounded obedient, but this was as close as Bruce had ever heard him come. The events of the day, poorly remembered and understood as they were, had clearly made an impression. Even on the Marines’ number one unshakable discipline case.

Bruce looked over again at Cutter and nodded. Then he activated his com and said, “Alright, we’re moving out…back to the camp. And I want everybody to take it slow and be careful. I want your eyes everywhere, and your ears too.” He gestured with his head, signaling for Cutter to follow him. “Let’s go, Marines.”

*    *    *

“Ana, we’ve got to turn back. We’ve been through each of these corridors half a dozen times. If they were anywhere around here, we’d have found them.” Frasier knew Cutter and the others were dead…or at least he couldn’t come up with any other possibility. Still, it was odd they hadn’t found more bodies. They’d evacuated the wounded and cataloged the dead. Cutter, Bruce, McCloud, and four of the others were unaccounted for. They had all just…disappeared. He’d have given his left arm for some working coms, but whatever weapon had destroyed their enemies had taken the Marine communications with them.

“We can’t give up on them, Duncan. They’re down here somewhere. Maybe lost…or hurt. They need us.” Her voice was desperate, bordering on distraught. He suspected she was beginning to think the same thing he was, though he knew she would fight the realization to the end.

He opened his mouth but quickly closed it again. He didn’t want to hurt her. He understood how hard she would take the loss of Cutter. Indeed, he knew losing the brilliant scientist would be a disaster for the entire fleet. They all owed their survival to two great pillars of strength—the tactical wizardry of Terrance Compton and the scientific genius of Hieronymus Cutter. But none of that changed the reality of the situation. They’d searched everywhere. Where could they be?

“We have to look again,” Ana insisted. “We
have
to.”

Frasier took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds. Finally, he exhaled and said, “Ana, we have no idea what happened down here. We were caught, trapped, facing certain death. And now we can get our people out of here, try to get back to base camp. We don’t know how long we have…or if more enemy forces are on the way.”

She turned to face him, her expression blazing with defiance. “Then tell me what that was? The bots attacking us didn’t flee. They were destroyed. By something.” She paused, holding his gaze intently. “What?”

Frasier just returned her stare, silently at first. The truth was, he had no idea what had happened, what intervention had saved them all. It wasn’t anything they had, nothing Colonel Preston had done, certainly. It almost seemed like some force had intervened on their behalf…but that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?

“See? You don’t know…any more than I do. Something helped us, or at least attacked the enemy. You can’t deny that. None of our people were killed, but the First Imperium bots were almost wiped out. Even if Hieronymus and the others weren’t out there, we’d still have to find out what was.”

“You can’t possibly be suggesting we have some kind of ally somewhere in these tunnels?” He shook his head. “No, more likely some kind of defense system malfunctioned, targeted them instead of us.”

“That was a weapon we’ve never seen before, Duncan. How many battles did your Marines fight against the First Imperium? Did you ever see anything like that?”

He paused, but then he finally answered. “No…but that doesn’t prove anything.”

“It proves we need to explore here more. To get some answers.”

“And what if it was the enemy? What if they already got Hieronymus, Bruce, McCloud? What if they’re waiting down there for us to go deeper?

She stared at him, her face a mask of determination. “Then we die, Duncan. But I’m not running away, not while our friends and comrades are still down there. Not when there are questions we need answered.”

He watched her turn to the side and begin walking down the corridor. She took a dozen steps and stopped, turning around. “Are you coming,” she asked?

He felt a wave of defeat. He was ready to explore the passageways further, to seek out the answers they needed. But not with Ana. He wanted her safe, out of here. But he knew he’d lost the fight. Ana Zhukov wouldn’t be Ana Zhukov if she’d been willing to retreat and allow others to take risks she wouldn’t herself. And even though it was driving him crazy, he realized it was one of the things he most liked about her.

“Yes,” he said, his voice a mix of surrender and admiration. “I’m coming.”

*    *    *

“Ronnie?”

The voice was faint, distant. But Cutter knew what it was—who it was—in an instant.

“Ana!” he yelled back down the tunnel, quickening his pace as he did.

“Doctor, wait.” Kyle Bruce reached out, putting his armored hand on Cutter’s shoulder. “Let the pickets go forward first. “Fergus, Gwynn,” he shouted, “move down the corridor, see what’s coming.”

“It’s Ana Zhukov, Lieutenant. I’d recognize her voice anywhere.” Cutter looked off down the corridor. “Ana!” he shouted.

“Perhaps, Doctor. But anything is possible. It could be an imitation, a recording. She could be a prisoner. Maybe even…”

“Ronnie!” The voice was a bit closer, louder. And the tone was completely changed, one of relief.