The AI War (19 page)

"That's not the worst of it," said the major, staring into the waning fire. "G'Sol and I, we watched from the bush—they . . . they mutilated our dead."

"Mutilated?" asked Zahava. "How?"

"Glass or plastic domes." He held his hands apart. "This round. They came streaming from one of those silver ships
..."

"A shuttle," said Zahava.

"From a shuttle," he nodded. "Whenever one came to a body, the dome would split. One half would drop over the head. It would flash red, dissolve the cranium—hair, bone, top of the ears. Then
...
it would remove the brain." L'Kor looked ill. "G'Sol swore she could hear a sucking noise when it happened." He shook his head, biting his lower lip. "Imagination. We were too far away."

"Then the other half of the sphere would close over the brain," said Zahava, "and carry it back to the shuttle. Right?"

The major nodded.

What do the AIs want with human brains? wondered the Terran.

"Our exarch, Y'Gar, has sealed the capital," said L'Kor. "The radio says there's a plague loose, and the population has been reporting for inoculations for the last week. No mention of this raid." He spat into the fire. "We think Y'Gar's sold out to these AIs. We can get into the city. In fact, we were getting ready to pay Y'Gar an unfriendly visit when you arrived."

"Don't let me stop . . . We?" said Zahava, looking around.

"Why do they mutilate our dead?" said Captain G'Sol, stepping into the small circle of light, carbine pointed at the Terran. Behind her, in the shadows, Zahava saw other figures, the dull glint of steel in their hands.

"She's all right, Captain," said L'Kor, standing. "She gave me her weapon, which I returned."

The carbine lowered. "Why do they mutilate our dead?" G'Sol repeated in a softer tone.

"I don't know," said Zahava, also rising. "They're machines, served by other machines. They've no need to brainstrip the dead, unless . . . No"—she shook her head.

"What?" said captain and major together.

"There's a type of ship that uses human brains—but the only one left is a harmless derelict."

"Mindslavers," said G'Sol.

"How did you know?" asked the Terran.

The major grinned humorlessly. "This is D'Lin, Zahava.

We're standing in the ruins of the quadrant governor's palace. The last governor was S'Helia R'Actol, creator of the R'Actolian biofabs. The R'Actolians created—"

"The first mindslaver," said Zahava, nodding. "Of course you'd know. But that still doesn't explain what the AIs need human brains for.''

"AIs?" said G'Sol, looking from Zahava to L'Kor.

"Artificial intelligence," said L'Kor. "Machines that think, kill and don't like people—our friends from the attack. You missed an interesting discussion, S'Yin."

"I'd like to join your visit to the exarch," said Zahava. "If he's betrayed you, he'll have some answers. You're not too squeamish about how you put the questions, are you?"

They just looked at her.

"I see you're not," she said.

"What can you contribute?" asked G'Sol.

A blur of motion, Zahava pivoted, drew and fired. A vine-choked pillar exploded in flame, the echo rolling out over the jungle. "How about a few hundred blasters and provisions?" she said, turning and reholstering.

L'Kor laughed—an honest, open laugh—and held out his hand. "Welcome to the One hundred and third, Zahava Tal."

A sullen red sun was rising by the time they were ready, blasters and ship's stores distributed, breakfast eaten. Only forty of the troopers were fit enough for combat—L'Kor was leaving the rest behind with the surviving medic.

"You know what to do?" said Zahava, clipping the communicator to her belt. She stood alone in the lifepod, the rest assembling outside.

"Protect the encampment and await your signal," said the lifepod. "I am not to acknowledge any communications, from either you or our own vessels, unless such vessels are approaching this planet. If summoned, I am to come in low and fast, avoiding detection, firing at targets of opportunity."

"You're a very versatile lifepod, thirty-six," said Zahava, taking an M32 blastrifle from the arms rack and slinging it over her shoulder.

"How versatile should a lifepod be?" asked the machine as Zahava walked to the airlock.

The Terran opened the airlock, looking back at the command console as sunlight swept in. "Was your programming augmented for this trip, thirty-six?" she asked. "Because my being at this place, at this time, reeks of a setup."

"If such were true," said the lifepod, "it's unlikely I would be allowed to acknowledge it."

"We're ready!" L'Kor called from the foot of the ladder. "Boat's waiting!"

"We'll talk later," said Zahava, leaving.

"Luck," said the lifepod as the airlock hissed shut.

Looks like Sidon, thought Zahava, remembering another war and another world as they slipped into the shattered harbor town. Then the breeze turned onshore, bringing the stench of death, and she knew it was worse.

The troopers stole through the town with the silent precision of trained infiltrators, moving quickly on the harbor and the boat slips.

S'Hlur had been a weathered gray town of squat stone buildings and narrow stone streets—a thick, solid town, its edges worn by time and storms—a place that would have sat quietly hunkered down before the sea another thousand years.

Most of the cottages and shops lay shattered, blasted by fusion fire that had left the streets and blocks in tumbled ruin. A few untouched buildings stood in grotesque contrast amid the rubble.

Gray and bloated, corpses lay everywhere—streets, shops, doorways—plump red insects feeding in the black-green rot of empty brainpans. The only sounds were along the harbor: the gentle slap of ocean against the ancient sea wall, the rhythmic creak and groan of wooden docks tugged by moored boats.

Sputtering, an engine caught, breaking the silence. Running the length of the seawall, the troops and Zahava came to the garrison's dock. A big wooden launch stood waiting in its slip, propellers churning.

"Quickly, quickly," called L'Kor as everyone boarded, three at a time. He and a corporal cast off fore and aft, boarding as the engine roared higher.

Turning into a stiff headwind, they ran for the harbor entrance. Reaching the ocean, they slammed keen-prowed into a heavy sea, the water splashing over the gunnels.

The sea and the lingering stench in her throat was too much for Zahava—she hung over the side most of the short voyage.

Late in the morning they made landfall along a deserted stretch of coast. Dragging the launch into the brush, they draped it in camouflage netting and moved off into the jungle, forty silent, vengeful men and women.

Zahava tugged her backpack tighter and followed, very grateful that she wasn't Exarch Y'Gar.

"There is a problem, Exarch."

Y'Gar looked up from his reports. What seemed a blue-uniformed captain of the Exarch's Guard stood before the ruler of D'Lin, pistol on his hip, black boots gleaming.

"Problem?" said Y'Gar. He touched the neat pile of papers on his desk. "Processing is almost complete. There's been no resistance, little suspicion
..."

"The problem isn't on D'Lin," said the AI. "Yet. Our ships intercepted an incoming craft of Fleet origin. It was destroyed."

"Fleet? The K'Ronarin Fleet?" said Y'Gar, alarmed. "But you said they never came into this quadrant—that it was prohibited."

"A prohibition that's been rescinded, it seems," said the AI. "Where one has come, more will follow. We haven't enough ships to stand off a flotilla—not until our vanguard arrives. We must finish operations tomorrow morning."

"Assemble and process, what, a thousand people? By noon?" Y'Gar shook his head. "Logistically impossible. We're not a machine society, U'Kal. Notification alone requires an entire day."

The AI walked to the glass doors, hands clasped behind his back. Outside, beyond the patio, gardeners labored under the tropical sun, trimming the topiary, tending the rows of flowers that bloomed in exotic profusion. U'Kal appreciated the geometric design of the flower beds, but found the colors distracting. He turned back to Y'Gar.

"Announce that you are moving all school-aged children in the city to a place of safety—T'Lor or one of the southern islands. Take them directly from school to processing, first thing in the morning. Harvesting them will bring us to thirty thousand and complete our mission on D'Lin."

The exarch stared down at his hands. He was a tall man, balding, losing a lifelong battle to the fat girdling his waist. He twisted the ring of office on his right hand, thumb stroking the ancient crest of starship-and-sun. "You want me to help you brainstrip children," he said.

"Conscience, Y'Gar," said U'Kal, returning to the desk, "is a severe impediment to discipline and order. We do not tolerate it."

"But . . ."

"But what?" said the AI commander. "We've replaced your Guard with our own units, wiped the outlying garrisons, imposed communications closure, quarantine and curfew within the city. Five to eight hundred people a day have been assembling for 'inoculation and transport.' Your people have no defenses, no communications, no mobility," he said, ticking them off on his fingers. "This world is ours, Y'Gar." U'Kal leaned across the desk, his perfect face a foot from the exarch's. "As are you. You are to prevent panic. Panic is inefficient; our time limited."

The exarch shrank from those cold blue eyes. "Very well, U'Kal. But this will torch it. Despite the communications closure, parents will want to talk with their children— certainly a reasonable request." He pointed at the AI. "You've got to get me off-world before howling mobs storm this Residence!"

"Don't be afraid, Y'Gar." The AI straightened up, hands behind his back. "We keep our word—even to vermin."

"Pretty, isn't it?" said L'Kor, handing the binoculars to Zahava. They lay on a grassy hillside, just beyond the brush, looking into the valley below.

Zahava adjusted the focus. The Residence lights were coming on, long windows flaring soft yellow beneath a brilliant lavender sunset. It was as elegant as the palace had been ugly, a tropical Versailles of lush, fountained gardens surrounding a white, double-winged manse, the whole ringed by the black metal pickets of a tall ornamental fence.

"Very pretty," said Zahava. "Why not just walk in and take over?"

"We're going," said the major, "now that I know it's not swarming with troops or AIs."

Leaving the beach, they'd skirted a broad crater in the jungle floor, then picked up a trail that ran due west—a trail along which bits of duraplast paving could sometimes be seen, glinting dull gray through the rich green flora. Seeing the old road surface, Zahava wanted to ask if the crater was other than natural, but didn't dare break the tense silence of the march.

Crossing a deserted two-lane stretch of contemporary highway, they'd climbed a forested hill. Leaving all but G'Sol and Zahava behind, L'Kor had led the way to the crest, where the rain forest broke into rolling savannah.

"Number two squad to feint at the gate," said L'Kor as Zahava continued looking through the binoculars. "The rest of us over the fence, just below here, and straight in."

"Neat and simple," nodded the captain.

"Perhaps you'll have adjoining brainpods," said Zahava, handing L'Kor the glasses. "Look again—in the grass to either side of the gate."

L'Kor adjusted the binoculars, looked and swore, seeing the twilight gleam faintly off the gun-blue blades that kept watch. "Slaughter machines," he said, handing G'Sol the glasses. "Waiting for prey, like a swamp-suck cluster."

"So much for Y'Gar," said the captain, handing back the binoculars.

"And probably his Guard," said Zahava.

"What do you mean?" said G'Sol.

"Replaced by combat droids, I think," said the Terran. "Or would the exarch's lads ignore those machines?"

"No," said the major, slowly shaking his head. "A proud old regiment—it wouldn't turn traitor. They're dead—or worse."

"Worse," said Zahava.

"What now?" said G'Sol after a moment.

Now some hard talk, thought Zahava.

"You've been letting emotion dictate strategy, Major, Captain," she said. She pressed on as L'Kor started to speak. "In your position, I'd probably have done the same." Not really, she thought. "You live on a sleepy, time-forgotten world, suddenly confronted by monsters come to take you for spare parts. You've two small advantages—the AIs are unaware of your existence, and of my presence. You were about to go blasting into the Residence and piss away those advantages for some sloppy notion of revenge."

L'Kor tried to speak again. She cut him off. "Stop thrashing about! Hit them hard!" She punctuated this last by stabbing her finger at L'Kor's chest. "Disrupt their operations, kill their personnel. You can't defeat the AIs, but you can hurt them."

The sun was gone, so she didn't see the major's face flush. But his anger came throughMoud and strong. "You know nothing about us or our world! You've been here less than a day, yet you think you can—"

"She's right," said G'Sol quietly. "We've been stupid and ineffectual. This is our last chance to fight smart." She turned to the Terran. "What do we do?"

"Raid their processing center," said Zahava quickly. "Where is it?"

"The old spaceport," said the captain. "It's just a huge clearing now—they built right in the center of it."

L'Kor held up a hand. "Wait," he said, temper under control. "Fine. We get in, we blow it up. There's no chance we'll get out. They'll counterattack with everything they've got."

"We fall back through the tubes," said G'Sol. She turned to the Terran.

"If we can find the entrance," said L'Kor. "And if it's intact."

"What
..."
began Zahava.

"Subterranean travel system," explained the captain. "Imperials built it, we stripped it, centuries ago. It connected the principal points on this island and the rest of the archipelago."

"If the entrance is obvious," said the Terran, "the AIs will have found it."