“I want to see Nang!” he yelled.
The Old Man’s voice came from behind, where Maung couldn’t see. “You can’t. There’s no time. The Chinese Fleet is heading straight for us and we need you on the Langley. Right now we can’t let you power up but soon, Maung. We’ll make sure Nang is safe.”
“Do your bowels function normally when semi-aware systems are deactivated?” one of the techs asked.
Before loading him into a shuttle they unstrapped him, but Maung stayed motionless for fear of the soldiers; ten of them levelled weapons at his head.
“Trust is earned, Maung,” the Old Man said. “It won’t be like this forever; we just can’t risk having you attack us right now.”
“Three quarters of my mind is dead, Old Man. I can’t remember how to tie my shoes. What are you afraid of?”
The Old Man nodded. He waved to a group of techs pushing a cart stacked with crates. “Get him set. Full environment suit with all the safeguards.”
“What safeguards?” Maung asked.
The techs pulled gear from the crates while one undressed Maung and handed him an undersuit. Maung’s face went red. All of them took notes and one holo-vidded everything, so that he imagined he was an animal in a zoo. The humiliation made Maung want to reach out and grab the camera so he could smash it over the technician’s head.
“We can’t afford to have the ship’s crew know who you are,” the Old Man said. “So the faceplate will be completely frosted. You won’t be able to see. But we’re sending two assistants who will act as your guards and will make sure you get everything you need. You will have full control of Fleet assets until you die or succeed in turning the Chinese back to Europa.”
Maung sneered. “Great but what are these safeguards?” he asked. “If I find out there’s something you’re not telling me, I’ll get very, very angry.”
“We have to wire your suit with explosives. In the event that your ship is crippled or destroyed, we can’t have you captured, Maung. I’m sorry.”
Stunned, Maung searched for something to say. The techs helped him pull on a bulky, lightly armored environment suit, the kind that naval personnel wore, but there was more to it—an oddity that Maung had trouble processing. Strips of thick white material were sewn into the fabric. Maung guessed that the strips contained the explosive, and the thought of being wrapped in it made him cringe.
“I won’t get captured,” he said.
The Old Man snickered. “I know you’re more powerful than they are, Maung. But we can’t take the chance.”
“You haven’t seen me fight, Old Man. I doubt there’s much you can do to blow this suit once my systems are active. It’s the first thing I’ll deactivate.”
“We already thought of that.” The Old Man lifted the suit’s helmet and tossed it to one of the techs. “And if there are any signs of you trying to tamper with the system, it blows automatically. A word of advice: don’t screw with it. And hurry up.”
Maung panicked. The helmet trapped him and its blank white faceplate limited his sight to only the heads-up display at the same time it reflected the sound of his breathing, suffocating him with claustrophobia; his inhalations went so ragged that the suit alarm activated, bleeding carbon dioxide to prevent hyperventilation. Two men rested on either side. He heard them strap into acceleration couches after they secured Maung into his. Neither man said anything and the silence pounded in his head to the point where Maung jumped when the shuttle pilot clicked into his speakers to announce the countdown.
Once acceleration violently rammed Maung into his couch, and the engines roared so that he couldn’t hear anything except the sound of machinery and fire, he settled down. Soon, he thought. Soon they’d activate him and he could infiltrate all their systems, where he’d at least gain some form of sight—some form of control.
Maung felt sick when the two men helped him out of the shuttle and through what he guessed was an airlock and onto the Langley; the sensation of blind weightlessness nauseated him. He did his best not to vomit. Voices surrounded him and Maung’s helmet speakers caught the shock in Langley crew members who asked what was going on, only to be answered by silence from his escorts. Maung bumped into a bulkhead. One of the men apologized and guided him lower, explaining that they’d arrived at Maung’s station and that once he strapped in, the ship’s captain would pay them a visit.
“Then we’ve been authorized to activate your systems,” the man finished.
“Anything I should know about the captain?” Maung asked.
The man cleared his throat. “Take it easy when you talk to him; don’t say anything to piss him off, because he’s probably already going to be pissed off since you’re taking his ship, sir. Plus, he knows who and what you are.”
Once the man arrived, Maung went tense. At first there was silence, but then the captain spoke, his voice so soft that Maung had to amplify his helmet pickups to catch the words.
“This is the one?” he asked. Maung assumed that one of his handlers must have nodded because the captain continued. “You’re taking my ship from me, son.”
“I know,” Maung said.
“I can’t stop it. This is an order from Fleet. Please don’t put any of my men in harm’s way unnecessarily; don’t get us all killed.”
The words stunned Maung; the captain’s voice conveyed a concern so genuine that it filled Maung with guilt because he couldn’t promise anything; there were no guarantees.
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
“Good.”
Maung felt a prick in his arm—the antidote for the chemicals keeping him from linking with his wetware. In less than a second the connection returned, and Maung broadcast to test for local nets when one of the guards handed him a cable.
“The other end is already linked with the ship’s semi-aware cluster,” he said.
“As soon as I take over your ship the Chinese will know, Captain.”
The other guard laughed. “He’s gone, sir. I guess he didn’t want to be around when you stole his ship.”
Maung reached with one hand for a port at the back of his helmet and when he found it, slipped the connector in, triggering the internal helmet mechanism that slid a thin tube into Maung’s neck connection. He lived again. Now Maung’s awareness expanded beyond his body and he noted that the ship’s semi-awares reacted with shock at his presence, that they activated defensive algorithms only to find that Maung had all the proper passcodes. They couldn’t do anything—except follow. He put them in standby mode so that he could have time to examine and learn, to probe every available system and document the experiences so he’d already be familiar once the battle commenced.
The ship was a massive carrier, within the depths of which were a second fleet of tiny drone missile pods—flying fuel tanks capped with semi-awares and strapped with ten missiles each. Maung linked with each of them to get an idea of their mission planning parameters. He recorded everything. In addition to the fighters, the Langley had battery after battery of defensive plasma hardpoints, used to destroy incoming missiles before they detonated close enough to damage the ship. There were some particle-cannon turrets, but not many; the ship wasn’t intended to get close enough to enemy craft to use them, and Maung noted that the cannons were slated to be dismantled during the next upgrade. All its weapons were automated. The ship was a virtual city of semi-awares and Maung marveled at the fact that there were any humans onboard since they were really unnecessary and, in some cases, could get in the way.
Maung reviewed the decision-making protocol and scrapped it in less than a second, taking the crew out of the loop and locking out changes. They are panicking, his semi-aware warned. Some of the crew tried to hack into the system and Maung dedicated the particle-cannon controllers to fight the intrusion—to keep them out, so he could concentrate on other things.
One of the ship’s semi-awares nudged Maung’s consciousness, asking for permission to interrupt. As soon as he granted access, the captain’s voi
ce rang in Maung’s head.
“What the hell are you doing with my ship?”
Maung hated the slowness. The captain’s words took seconds to annunciate, time which to him stretched out like years, and he had to vocalize a response that took just as long.
“Getting ready. The Chinese will be in attack range within eight hours. I have to merge with every semi-aware and share my experiences with them so we can come up with something.”
“I need access,” the captain said. “My people need access. You can’t cut us out of the loop.”
Maung located the orders that the captain had been given. He shot a copy to the terminal the man was using and then highlighted the important parts.
“It’s right there, Captain. I’m to be given total control of fleet. I’ll need your people to handle repairs and emergencies once the fighting starts and we take damage. Until then, you’re of no use.”
Silence. The terminal shut off and Maung told the communications semi-awares to broadcast a message to the fleet, instructing them to assemble near Phobos and to have their crews take battle stations. Even this far away, the Chinese could reach him. They had plenty of Dream Warriors, creatures like the one at Karin, who now stroked his communication streams, making stealthy attempts at insertion. These were just probes. Maung examined one stream closely and assessed that the Chinese were just gathering data, not yet interested in taking over any Fleet ships.
His body sensed movement. The Langley broke Mars orbit and Maung imagined that it was a blue whale, slowly turning in the water to head deeper out to sea.
By the time they reached the Phobos rally point, Maung had finished studying all the ship’s records on Fleet tactics, and its semi-awares ran him through a billion simulations. Now Maung guided them. He fed what he had on the Chinese Dream Warriors into their database and the Fleet semi-awares locked together, joining their collective processing capability to factor the data. The answer was what Maung expected: With so many potential Chinese Dream Warriors, a defense-focused strategy would doom the Fleet. They—even with Maung’s help—couldn’t fend off multiple Dream Warriors long enough for the ships to engage and destroy their enemy. The Chinese had superior numbers.
Maung was going to have to attack, take over as many enemy systems as he could, and pray he could do it before the Chinese Fleet closed within range to vaporize the Langley. A cake walk, Maung told himself.
That is not correct, his semi-aware stated. Your odds of success are extremely low.
Maung laughed. He worked the slow process of linking all the fleet communications antennae, forming what eventually would be a massive array, and once it was finished he’d make his first move.
Maung reached out through space, sending infinite tendrils of data in the form of microwaves, a tight beam that he meant to be “bait” as he swept it slowly. Within microseconds he got a pulse. It was gentle. Maung’s array picked up a radio frequency that at first looked like that of a pulsar—a narrow beam that hit intermittently—and he ignored it, but as the seconds ticked by the pulsing transformed into a steady scan, tripping the semi-awares’ alarms when it tested Langley access codes. Maung cursed himself for missing it. He analyzed the data and was amazed to find thousands upon thousands of layers of encryption, eating up precious seconds with each layer he had to crack. It was his second mistake.
Maung was still trying to crack the last layer when one of the Fleet ships, the Teller, deviated from its position and set a collision course for the Langley. Maung reacted instantly. He activated the particle-beam turrets at the same time he set an evasion course, and the Teller barely missed when the Langley changed z at the last minute, passing underneath the Teller and raking its engine area with beams; the stream of particles was invisible in space. But through the ships’ video feeds, Maung tracked gas venting from the rear of the craft, and then secondary explosions when the beams ripped through its fuel compartments. The Teller tumbled, heading out into the black of space.
The captain was furious; he pinged Maung from a terminal on the bridge. “You’re going to kill us all.”
“I can’t talk right now,” Maung said. “The battle has begun.”
“You try that one more time and I’ll head to your compartment and rip your heart out—”
Maung disconnected the terminal. But the captain was right. The probe had been a diversion and the real target had been the Teller; Maung had been stupid for not seeing such an obvious ploy and promised not to fall for it again, returning his focus to scan the rest of the ships, catching at least a hundred other infiltration attempts that he managed to turn back or blunt. Finally, the Chinese gave up. There was silence in space now, with no radio waves that shouldn’t be there and Maung paused to analyze the Chinese data packets he stored during the attack. He was sure: There were between four and six Dream Warriors broadcasting from three different ships—special craft in the center of the Chinese formation.
Maung pinged one of the drone semi-awares and sent it coordinates for an area between the Langley and the Chinese fleet. Can you act as a communications relay?
It took the drone less than a second to respond, Yes, but there is a nonzero probability that I will be detected as the Chinese get closer. Also, at that range, there will be no chance for me to return under my own power.
Maung loaded it with programs and told it to launch. Then he sent out a thousand more drones, each to different coordinates on the Chinese approach route, watching the craft on radar and losing them only after they traveled hundreds of kilometers from the ship. First phase of the plan is complete, his semi-aware sent. Maung nodded, reoriented his makeshift coms array, and settled back to wait.
Nang is pregnant. Maung could only do so much while waiting and he lost himself in thought, doing his best to still keep part of his attention on his duty while thinking of her. For now she and his child were safe on Mars, and he saw the monk again, his orange robes blowing in a warm afternoon wind. “Your children are going to save us,” he said, “while trying to destroy each other.”
Each ship was full of people who had no idea what was happening and Maung grew annoyed as some tried to regain control; they reminded him of gnats. The crew buzzed at the edges of his awareness and the ship’s semi-awares swatted them back when any got close to breaking in. At a deeper, human level, he sympathized; it must’ve looked like Maung was leading the fleet into suicide as the Chinese approached headlong in the opposite direction.
Maung perked up. A burst transmission from a section of Mars’ defensive network, a series of passive collectors scattered throughout the planet’s orbit, cut through his defenses and gave a precise description of the enemy route; before the Chinese could vaporize the collector it provided location, speed and bearing. Maung calmed himself. He let his wetware stimulate the production of more neurotransmitters, sensing his body relax, which was important for what was coming; there was no telling how long the battle would last, only that it could arrive sooner than anyone had anticipated.
Activating the drones, his semi-aware announced.
The activation signal was like turning on a flashlight, visible to the Chinese, and space filled with electromagnetic waves so Maung now had to sift through a fog of energy and a barrage of Chinese assaults. He almost failed to adjust the array. Hundreds of access attempts flooded his fleet’s semi-awares and they tugged at Maung, begging for help in fending off the enemy so that he had to dedicate a portion of his mind to countercoding, setting up numerical sandbags to at least slow Chinese infiltration. Finally he moved the array. One by one, he sent the signal to the other drones that immediately acted, running through the scripted programs loaded into their data stores and racked in order of priority.
For minutes there was no change. Then the Chinese emissions shifted frequencies for a fraction of a second, so brief that Maung judged they’d detected incoming attacks and immediately calculated that going after so many drones would slow them too much. Instead the Chinese increased speed; now they’
d be within weapons range in less than an hour. Maung analyzed the new changes and his semi-aware concluded that the Chinese planned to rely on numbers rather than novel strategy. Why not? he thought. There are so few of us, they could lose a good portion of their fleet and still win. But Maung smiled; he had one last trick for them and had counted on—and hoped for—the Chinese to do exactly as they did: barrel forward, headlong toward the center of the Allied battle group.
Maung’s mind counted down. He had three more drones to activate, all at the same location and closest to the Chinese approach, and when the window looked optimal he sent the command. He would get no immediate indication of success or failure. These drones weren’t loaded with any of his programs since they had the simplest orders of all, to concentrate all their missiles on the Chinese flagship and then ram its command centers.
The electromagnetic fog changed and in the compartment Maung’s face grinned; it was a distress call. Maung gathered unshielded transmissions, the first the Chinese had sent, and relayed them to the crews of all his ships where they were met with cheers. It was a small victory, but to Maung it was a shot of hope; one of the drones had gotten through. It fired all its missiles and heavily damaged the Chinese flagship’s engine compartments before slamming into its bridge, crippling the vessel so that it now drifted through space. He scanned for any surviving drones. There was one left, barely within range and Maung breathed deeply in an attempt to prepare for something that was sure to expose himself to Chinese attack. Hopefully he could do it quickly so they wouldn’t have time to react. Maung showed the ship’s semi-awares his plan; it was the same one he’d used when stationed on the Singapore Sun, and the systems churned over the data and numbers.
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