Founding of the Federation 3: The First AI War (78 page)

You stink of fear, he thought mentally. He was polite enough to keep the opinion to himself. He was a black-maned lionoid—an African Lion Chimera of the first order. The scientists in the room and elsewhere had used his genetics as well as samples from other chimeras, snarfs, apes, and others to create the new species of Neos growing in the long lines of artificial wombs.

He intended to take the cream of the crop. The best of the best to forge his special team, his Thundercats. If he did it right, he'd create a crack unit that would help win the war and prove the cats’ right to survive once it was over.

Once he had the troops of course, barring any additional unforeseen complications.

“So much for an anniversary and a short war,” Claudis mused softly as he watched the various techs move around the cold chamber. “I think people were thinking too much of us, assuming that we'd get it done easy as pie. Obviously they were wrong.”

“Lieutenant?” a tech asked.

Claudis waved a hand. “Never mind. You said it's over here?”

“Right this way, sir.”

“The other breeds here too?”

“If you mean felines, yes. All of the feline breeds are here. The canines and other species have their own production lines. I understand there is something else going on with the canines,” the tech replied with a shrug.

“Oh.”

That made sense on the face of it; there was no need to randomly mix the species. Quite the contrary. Keeping them grouped lessened a lot of the monitoring and logistical headaches he thought with a mental nod of approval. He looked around. The new breed of Neos were all omnivores or carnivores. There were no herbivores in the group, though he was aware that an Indian genetics group was working on elephants of all things.

Lieutenant Claudis and others like him had graduated the training regime with flying colors. But instead of sending them on with their units they'd been held back. He'd resented it until he'd found out why. They had taken on additional training, special ops and drill instructors to serve a specific purpose, one of leadership for the next generation of soldier citizens.

He had been trained as a DI and would stay on to train the cubs and kits for a while, at least until they got their feet under them. But he'd already made it clear he wanted action. He was damned if he'd train the kids and send them off to fight and die while he just kept training more. Once they had their feet under them, the first generation would go to Earth. At least some of them. He intended to lead the way. After all, they'd need leaders.

Claudis was one of those rare chimeras who had started out as neither fish nor fowl. By that it meant his
great
grandparents had started him on his body shape over a century prior. His grandparents and later parents had continued the process, refining their children into their ideal feline shape.

But they'd hit a snag with him and his generation. Despite looking around the entire solar system he hadn't found a single female interested in turning herself into a lioness. A few had changed themselves into other cats but none were a lioness.

And all of the females had entered into established relationships fairly early.

In modern times that wasn't so much of a problem. He could pay the company to grow a child, preferably a son, to term in an artificial womb. But he knew his faults; he was no parent. He didn't have the patience to take on a cub or cubs.

It was a ticklish problem. His grandparents had died in a shuttle accident, and his parents hadn't nagged him about “settling down” for some time. But he knew his biological clock was ticking. And the older he got, the harder it would be to put up with a rambunctious cub.

He shook his head. Perhaps McGillicuty had been right. They should have stuck to VR avatars instead of the true bioform, he thought, flexing a hand paw to expose his claws. Though he had been ready to rip the other chimera a new one when he'd suggested one of them do a gender swap after a coin flip.

He looked over to the Neochimp, Doctor Glass. He had heard the ape hadn't been thrilled about the idea, but after a heart-to-heart with the big man, he'd seen the errors of his ways. He'd thrown himself whole heartedly into the project. That was good.

“Lieutenant, we've gotten the litter stabilized, but I'm afraid only one of this generation survived,” a tech said looking at the predator and then down to her tablet. “He's got a red mane, however,” she muttered. “I hope that's not a problem,” she said, stumbling over the words as the giant cat padded over to the tube to get a better view of the readouts. He couldn't see much beyond his own reflection in the tube, but he could see the image of the lion cub in the video monitor. Under the fetal cub's image was his stats—lion, blood type O. He nodded. Good enough. Stable heart, good development. If he survived it would be worth all the bone marrow and blood he'd donated to get the program up and running.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I … um, sure. We were lucky to have caught the balance in time, sir. We've corrected the faults in previous itinerations. He should be pretty spectacular once he grows up,” she said, “if he gets the chance.”

“If indeed. I hope so,” the lieutenant replied. He looked over to the second generation, then to the rows of tubes of the first further away. Most about ready to decant. There was a massive Siberian tiger in the lead pod with the name Tygra and another with the moniker, Khan, Shier. Appropriate he thought, lips puckering as he thought of Baloo. Apparently someone had a sense of humor. At least they weren't choosing Ben or Jerry for names or heaven forbid, alpha numerics.

Come to think of it, they might have already with the basic names but then ran out.

“Any problems with that batch?” he asked, indicating the first and second generation rows. He was mentally selecting several to keep an eye on when he got the chance to build his own platoon from the ground up.

The tech looked at her tablet then up. “None recently, sir. We lost about half the first generation before we figured out the bugs and a quarter of the second crop. Our yield is improving if we can keep people from tinkering too much,” she said eying a Neochimp nearby.

“Oh?”

“Making late, last minute changes to the bioform's genetic structure is ill-advised. Using viruses to insert the genetic changes was one of our bugs,” the tech admitted. “It was a case of too much, too many massive changes instead of small corrections. That is why we lost so many of the first generation. Now we're noting the defects and issues and making patches to apply in the flow on generations,” she said.

The great black-maned lion nodded sagely. “Carry on then,” he said. She came to what she probably thought as attention, flipping the tablet to her chest as he walked past her. He flicked his tail from side to side. He heard a soft gasp of dismay and grinned. He looked over his shoulder to see her blushing. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Sorry. It tends to have a mind of its own I suppose,” he said as he left.

“Remind me to take a look at Doctor Glass's progress,” he said as he stretched.

“His progress report is in your system, sir,” the young woman said. Jack just eyed her. She nodded. “Yes, sir. A face-to-face? I can schedule …”

“No, I want the reminder. I don't want him to have advance warning. I plan to drop in and do a surprise inspection.”

“Yes, sir,” the young woman said, bobbing a nod. “If you say so, sir.”

“I do. That's one of the perks of being the boss,” he said as he passed her on the way out. Boy did he ever miss Athena he thought fleetingly.

<>V<>

Jack thought about the security breach when he got report of the conversation between someone on Olympus and Okinawa.

It was obviously the shinobi; someone, possibly the other Kage, had inserted an agent onto Olympus. Possibly more than one. They wanted to contact Lord Mū in Okinawa. He shook his head.

They had gone through various ages just like in the past. The industrial age had led to the electric, to the automobile, to the nuclear age, to the information age, gamer age, to the space age that transitioned into the genetics age, age of self-creation and imagination, and the stellar age which was his favorite. But he knew about the self-creation, the so-called imagination group. People who became so enamored with something they had to live that dream. To turn it into a reality.

Hence, the shinobi among other groups. He was aware of their existence; in fact, the company had employed or had helped them from time to time. Their origins were what amused him the most. He'd known about cons and people who loved a character or animal a little too much to the fetish extreme, to turn it into a lifestyle. Some had been amusing, he'd heard about the 501st. Others though … he shook his head.

The manga they had sprung from had faded as the shinobi took root and took pains to hide their origins. But once Roman knew where to look, it was simple to create their own “bingo book” of the various people to look out for. The shinobi's slavish attention to detail, right down to creating the faces of the characters, worked to their disadvantage, though he nor Roman were willing to let them know that.

They didn't know when to quit, and the law was something they tended to break frequently with their thefts and assassination work. He'd had an understanding with their leader; they didn't come after him or his people.

But some of the shinobi didn't know or care when enough was enough apparently. Some people took reenacting to extremes. Gene sculpting and programming their children from birth to assume specific characters? To have their entire existences planned? Each generation they got better at it too.

Reality wasn't quite meshing with fantasy, but they had found ways to adapt. And they were stubborn, he had to give them that. They had set a goal for themselves. He wasn't too thrilled about having techno ninjas running around the cosmos, but for the time being, they were on his side. He'd have to live with it.

“You have an appointment with the other CEOs in an hour, sir,” the secretary said from his office door.

“Okay, coming,” Jack said rising from his seat. He'd spent another two weeks transiting from Earth system to Mars just to have face-to-face meetings. He longed for some way to communicate faster than light and for the damn war to be over.

<>V<>

“Progress, finally. So, Africa, then we take stock and go on from there?” Lynn asked during the conference.

“It's what we're looking at as Phase 2. Phase 1 will be the bombardment. From Africa we can stage ground or air assaults as needed on the Middle East and surrounding area. I'm not looking forward to Europe, however.”

He grimaced. It had been clear that they needed more air support. General Murtough had called for additional aircraft to fight the drones and provide air support that the orbital strikes couldn't do. But getting the aircraft built was only a small part of the puzzle. They needed trained pilots, equipment, maintenance personnel, gear and of course, they'd need replacements. Of that he was certain of. The drones and missiles they were up against weren't brave or stupid, just programmed to take out a target. Period.

“Me neither,” Lynn said dryly, snapping his attention back to the current conversation. She did miss shopping in Paris she mused blackly. The food, the wine, the atmosphere … all gone. Now the beautiful city was a series of craters and virtual memories.

“We'll assess what worked and what didn't, make adjustments, resupply, and then do another landing on the other continents on a case-by-case basis. Most likely South America will be our secondary target.”

“That's good for land. But what about the sea?” Gus asked.

“The floating cities and cruise ships we can target from space. We can hit them from space when we wish. We're still trying to find a fix for the undersea targets, however. The water over them will dampen any KEW strikes we send in,” Jack explained.

“But the shockwave from the impact should crack them,” Amir stated. “It'll also send tidal waves along the coasts of the surrounding areas. That's going to do a lot of damage, some unwanted.”

“We don't just want them cracked; we want them obliterated,” Jack said firmly.

“Speak for yourself. Radick Industries built some of those facilities, including two of the Pacific Island resorts. We are still owed money on them,” Sheila said dryly.

Jack nodded. “Understood. The shells are fine, but the electronics need to go. And an EMP is obviously out of the question.”

“Are we certain the people inside are gone?”

Jack nodded. “According to our intel, even New Atlantis perished with all hands when the virus opened up the locks and let the water in. It did try to preserve the computer and power rooms after a while, we believe to keep itself running. Anyone trapped in those areas have long since perished, however.”

“You think.”

“We can run the math. No food, no air, no water …,” Jack shook his head bleakly. Gus grunted. He'd had a couple cousins who had been into aqua farming in the Mediterranean. He'd invested in the project as much as for diversifying as supporting his kin. Now they were gone like so many other people. “We can assault them with otters, selkie, and dolphins, but the assaults won't be without cost,” Jack rolled on, not noticing Gus's thoughts.

“They aren't defended …”