The AI War (11 page)

"We can't even get off the bridge," said K'Raoda, nodding toward the doors. "Never mind contacting the shuttles."

"I came to tell you," said N'Trol after glancing at the doors, "life systems
..."

"We know they're gone," said T'Ral.

N'Trol shook his head. "Worse than gone. Transformed. The stasis algorithm freezes key systems, then reprograms them. Life systems was the first to fall. Its new mission is evidently to kill us."

There was a stunned silence. "How?" asked K'Raoda.

"Wilder and wilder peaks and valleys in our environment," said the engineer. "I had a report of a blizzard on hangar deck, just before we lost the commnet."

"So did we," said K'Lana.

"If the computer's serious, why doesn't it just turn the oxygen scrubbers off?" asked T'Ral. "We'd be dead by watchend."

"Or hit us with some hard vacuum?" said K'Raoda. "Or power surges, or any number of deadly tricks the computer could use?''

"The Empire, my children," said N'Trol, eyes sweeping their worried faces. "No proof, but I think those long-dead Fleet engineers hardened their cybernetics against nonexistent stasis algorithms." He glanced at K'Raoda. The first officer bowed slightly. "But"—N'Trol held up a finger—"the computer can't hold out forever. It's just fighting a rearguard action. It's going after propulsion and jump drive now."

"Weapons?" asked T'Ral.

"Weapons power feed back up firmed—the fluctuations were probably a secondary effect of its tinkering with life systems. But you'll have to man the batteries—remote targeting's useless."

"And we're helpless without the original algorithm?" said K'Raoda.

"Or its antidote," nodded the engineer. "Which I think is with that slaver machine."

"I won't argue with you," sighed K'Raoda. "Let's hope the commodore brings it back intact."

"Or it the commodore," said N'Trol.

A faint clanking came from across the bridge. Everyone turned to look. Sweating, cursing softly, the two commandos were cranking open the doors, using a hand winch installed centuries before by a meticulous Imperial Fleet.

"There's something you should see," said N'Trol as the doors grew wider. "Back where I was, in the light conduits."

"I can't leave the bridge!" said K'Raoda.

N'Trol laughed. "The bridge is dead, K'Raoda." He leaned close. "It's important."

"All right," said K'Raoda after a moment. He stood. "Attention, please." Those who'd started to drift away returned. "I'm going with Mr. N'Trol down into the light conduits. Commander T'Ral will be in command." He turned to his friend. "Secure the bridge and relocate to gunnery control. Break out a tactical commweb—the sort we'd use for ground operations.
..."

"An I'Zul Tactical Web," said T'Ral.

"That's it," said K'Raoda. "Put the nexus in gunnery control and a unit in every fusion battery facing
Alpha Prime.
Then man those batteries with everyone who's Mark eighty-eight qualified. At least we can give the commodore some cover fire if he needs it."

T'Ral nodded curtly. "Yes, sir." He began issuing orders as N'Trol and K'Raoda left the bridge.

"What's so damned secret, N'Trol?" asked K'Raoda as they hurried down an empty stretch of corridor.

"I didn't think you want the rest of them knowing there's a transmute running around on board," said N'Trol as they passed an open recroom door. A steady stream of chill air flowed into the corridor. "I see you're not startled," said the engineer.

"You haven't heard," said K'Raoda, and quickly sketched the incident of R'Gal, the transmute and the blasted command chair. He finished as they stopped before a wall panel. "So, what did you find?" he added.

"I had this engineering tech foisted on me, off Terra," said N'Trol, entering the access code on a touchpad. "Knew his stuff, kept to himself." The panel didn't open. N'Trol shrugged. "Stasis algorithm must have reached the security protocols." Unclipping a light wand from his shirt pocket, N'Trol held it over the tiny optics transceiver to the left of the touchpad. Picking up the downtime signal from transceiver, the wand sent an override code flashing into the panel. There was a soft click.

"Give me a hand here," said N'Trol, pocketing the wand.

The two men each seized one of the two handles and pulled to the right. The panel yielded slowly, sliding right.

"Anyway," said the engineer, "I went into this tech's quarters unannounced during his sleep period—a question about something he'd done but hadn't logged.

"This tech came up with a knife all set to cut my heart out. Never saw anyone in engineering move that fast." They had the panel opened now. Light glimmered in the distance.

"So you pegged R'Gal as CIC or maybe Fleet Security," said K'Raoda, following the older man into the crawl space. "So what?"

"So imagine how I felt, finding him lying in the conduit, more dead than alive."

"More dead than alive is right," said K'Raoda, kneeling over the Watcher. R'Gal lay in the center of a small four-way intersection, hands crossed over his chest, the red-green light of a billion messages washing over him. There were two neat holes in each of his temples.

"S'Cotar transmute," said K'Raoda, rising. "Weird. Why didn't it steal his mind, kill him and flick him out into space?"

N'Trol shrugged. "I'm not a PsychOps analyst."

"Let's get him to Sick Bay."

The conduit was just wide enough for one man, walking stooped over. Taking R'GaPs legs, N'Trol led, K'Raoda taking the arms, the Watcher slung between them as they moved slowly back through a narrow world of light and silence.

"This is the bridge level, Egg," said D'Trelna. "Where's the fierce opposition you promised us?" Glancing in the rear scan, he saw the corsair shuttle was maintaining speed and interval.

"This ship's had to awaken and gather its strength, Commodore," said the machine. "Soon. And should we survive, the way back won't be easy."

"D'Trelna," came K'Tran's voice, "we've passed enough hidden fusion batteries to stop a cruiser. Why haven't they fired?"

D'Trelna looked at Egg. The slaver machine didn't speak. "Perhaps we're wanted alive," said the commodore, watching the intersections warily. "This monster's strength isn't so much its size, K'Tran, as the power and maneuverability it draws from the human minds it's enslaved."

"You think they want to harvest us?" said A'Tir, a slight tremor to her voice.

"Count on it," said D'Trelna.

"I'd rather die," she said.

"You'll have the chance," said L'Wrona.

Suddenly the control panel and cabin lights winked off, as did the corridor lights. With a whine of dying n-gravs, the shuttle plunged toward the deck.

"Brakes!" shouted L'Wrona, throwing his arms across his face as they slammed into the deck.

"Negative!" cried D'Trelna, pulling back on the useless control stick.

Metal screaming, sparks flying, the shuttle spun down the corridor, angling toward the left wall. Egg's tendrils snapped back out, touching the controls.

Part of the instrument panel came alive again as the shuttle rose for an instant, then settled jerkily on its landing struts.

"My energy reserves are exhausted," whispered the slaver machine. Its light tendrils disappeared. With them went the brief burst of power that had saved the shuttle.

"Damper field," said D'Trelna weakly. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he unbuckled and stood, peering into the utter darkness of the corridor. "What happened to K'Tran?"

"Alternate course plotted and set," said A'Tir, looking up from the shuttle's complink.

"Time to lose Fats and friends," said K'Tran, glancing at the course plot. "Next main intersection."

The damper field hit just as they turned. Their shuttle's systems failed for an instant, touched by the field's edge, then came back on as they moved down the side corridor.

"Now that's timing," grinned K'Tran.

"Think they've had it?" asked A'Tir.

K'Tran shrugged, eyes on the corridor. "Two very capable officers, D'Trelna and L'Wrona. And backed by ten of their best commandos. Don't count them out, Number One. But with luck, they and the R'Actolians will occupy each other till it's too late."

"Anyone hurt?" asked L'Wrona. He stood beside D'Trelna in the shuttle's passenger section.

"No," said S'Til. The commandos were out of their seats, taking the battlelamps S'Til was distributing from the aft storage area. The dim glow of six battery-powered lights provided a faint light. "Damper field?" she asked, handing each of the two senior officers a lamp.

"Probably," said D'Trelna, clipping the lamp to his belt.

Drawing her Mil A, S'Til set the beam low, pointed the muzzle at the roof and pulled the trigger. There was a faint click. "Damper field," she nodded. "Defense perimeter?" she asked L'Wrona.

The captain nodded. "Knives against whatever's out there. If we have to, we'll take that bridge on foot, bare-handed."

And club whatever to death with our boots, thought D'Trelna. "Surely not bare-handed," he said.

The arms locker was set into the bulkhead to the right of the airlock. Going to it, D'Trelna entered the combination on its keypad. Nothing happened. "Get that open," he ordered S'Til, jerking a thumb at the locker.

It only took her a moment, deftly jiggling her blade between locker panel and lock. The door gave with a snap. S'Til slid the door back, then stepped back with a delighted cry. Behind her, a commando whistled appreciatively as lamp beams washed across the arms racks.

"Your commodore provides," said D'Trelna, sweeping his own light over the rows of stacked M16's and Uzis. "You do know how to use them?" he asked S'Til.

"We didn't waste our time on Terra," she said, passing out the weapons. "Plenty of ammunition," she added, nodding at the crates stacked beneath the racks.

"Indeed," said D'Trelna. Glancing at the boxes, he fleetingly wondered what 5.56MM NATO meant.

"You sly swamp d'astig, D'Trelna," said L'Wrona, handing the commodore an Uzi. "How'd you know?"

"I didn't," said D'Trelna. "Contingency planning."

"Keep your M11A's," ordered S'Til. Chambering a round, she clicked off her M16's safety. "And follow me," she said, pressing the airlock override. As the double doors hissed open, S'Til leaped out into the darkness of the mindslaver.

Egg had landed them at the intersection of four main corridors, a space half the size of a sports field. The area looked even wider than it was, there in the light from the battle torches.

Walking in a slow circle around the shuttle, D'Trelna looked down each of the great passageways, straining to see beyond the cone of yellow light. L'Wrona walked silently beside him, machine pistol at the ready.

"Do you know the tale of the four corners of hell, H'Nar?" asked the commodore as they walked around the front of the shuttle.

D'Trelna was surprised to see the captain smile. "One of my father's favorites. The merchant prince A'Lan rescues some tedious woman
..."

"T'Sar . . ."

"Rescues T'Sar from the demon P'Kul, in the very heart of hell. Pursued, A'Lan and T'Sar lose their way and come to the four corners of hell. P'Kul and his pack are at their heels. Before them, three dark, uncertain roads. Two, they know, lead back to hell. The third, to life, but only for the living."

"And A'Lan chooses the one least traveled on," said D'Trelna, "and of course they emerge into the land of life. A parable on the road-least-traveled."

The captain looked at the two corridors to his right and left. "Not many footprints in the battlesteel, J'Quel."

"We'll take the road least traveled, H'Nar," said D'Trelna as they rejoined S'Til beside the airlock. "We will advance on foot to the bridge."

"And where is the bridge?" asked L'Wrona.

D'Trelna waved vaguely toward the bridge corridor. "Up there, somewhere. Egg said it wasn't far. I want Harrison alive and that commwand in my hand when we leave."

"As the commodore orders," said L'Wrona. He turned to S'Til, who stood frowning, her head cocked. "We'll proceed on foot from here, Lieutenant. Have—"

She stopped him with upraised hand. "Listen," she whispered.

They listened, not hearing it at first. "Feet," said L'Wrona after a moment. "There," he nodded at the corridor they were about to use.

"Many feet," said D'Trelna, cocking his head. "Moving quickly, but not in time."

"You assume they're feet," said L'Wrona.

"There's no reason I should trust you," said John.

"My timely warning," said the blonde, hand to heart, "saved this galaxy from the AIs, when they'd infiltrated Terra Two."

"After you and your green slime horde wiped out millions of people, trying to take the galaxy for yourselves!" John felt his face flush.

"Not coming for fata, certainly," said D'Trelna, un-slinging his Uzi.

"Deploy!" ordered L'Wrona. "S'Til," he said as the commandos took up position around the shuttle, "get a hover-flare up."

Ducking into the shuttle, the commando officer came back with a short-barreled weapon. Scrambling up the access ladder to the roof, she dropped into the prone firing position, aimed carefully down the corridor and squeezed the trigger.

Whirring faintly, something floated away from the shuttle. A hundred meters out, it flared to life, lighting the corridor bright as a desert noon—the corridor and the gray-uniformed shapes charging down it, bayonet-fixed rifles held high.

"Gods of my fathers," whispered D'Trelna, staring.

"Imperial Marines," said L'Wrona, equally stunned.

Their surprise stolen, the attackers broke into screams— high-pitched, heart-stopping, utterly inhuman screams.

"Once, maybe," shouted D'Trelna as the assault closed. "Part of
Alpha Prime
now."

"Fire!" cried L'Wrona.

The S'Cotar chuckled, leaning back in its chair. "I like you, Harrison. You're one of life's innocents—defend the good, defy the wrong. You have the gift of unambiguous perception."

"There's no reason I should trust you," repeated John.

Guan-Sharick shrugged. "I'll level, as you like to say." The blonde held out a palm. "Your life is here, Harrison. Help me, or . . ." The hand became a fist.