A.I. Void Ship (The A.I. Series Book 6)

by Vaughn Heppner

  -8-

  The Centurion groaned with effort as he eked out yet another pushup in his prison cell aboard Main 63.

  If anything, he looked even more muscular than he had at the time he’d spoken to the Main back in the Algol System. Yet, despite the greater physical specimen that he had become, his eyes were all but vacant.

  The Centurion endured because he did not know any other way. He had many hallucinations, so many that he had almost forgotten they were figments of his imagination.

  The trouble was that the human mind was not made to be alone for such a long time. The octopoids hadn’t bothered with him since then. Neither had Main 63 spoken to him via a comm.

  Thus, the clangs outside his cell did not unduly concern the Centurion. Suddenly, however, the hatch slid up.

  The Centurion frowned. He vaguely realized he should know what that noise meant. He turned and saw two metallic octopoids. They regarded him silently.

  The man’s frown intensified. He opened his mouth and his rusted tongue moved. He croaked several times. It had been over three real weeks since he’d spoken a word. In his hallucinations, he hadn’t needed speech, but had simply thought the words.

  “You,” the Centurion said.

  “Step outside your cell,” the chief octopoid said.

  “What?”

  “Obey,” the robot said.

  The Centurion blinked several times, otherwise standing there unmoving.

  Finally, the octopoid moved, jerking into the cell. He raised a tentacle with a prod on the end. The tip of the prod touched the Centurion on the side, and a zap of sound occurred as the robot shocked the man.

  The Centurion cried out in pain, falling onto the floor as he sought to escape the pain.

  The octopoid leaned down, zapping him again.

  The Centurion writhed on the floor, curling up into a fetal ball.

  “Stand up, man. Leave your cell.”

  The Centurion merely curled up more tightly.

  The octopoid reached down, and the Centurion unfolded with startling speed, using the edge of his right hand to hack at the tentacle holding the prod.

  It made no difference. Another zap heralded another powerful shock.

  The Centurion scrambled upright, panting, backing up against a wall.

  “Will you obey?” the octopoid asked.

  Wheels slowly turned in the Centurion’s sluggish mind. The difference between reality and fantasy became clearer again. This was real. He was aboard an AI warship.

  The Centurion groaned as tears threatened to leak from his eyes.

  The octopoid advanced upon the Centurion, leading with the electric goad.

  “I…” the Centurion said.

  The octopoid hesitated.

  “Will come with you,” the Centurion said.

  The octopoid seemed to calculate and finally retreated from the cell.

  Slowly at first, but gaining speed as he advanced, the Centurion followed him. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “The Main wishes to speak with you,” the octopoid said, and nothing more.

  ***

  After a journey similar to last time, through the endless corridors, the naked Centurion found himself in the speaking room. He ate sandwiches and drank tainted water.

  The entire side of the wall swirled with colorful patterns again. That indicated the intelligence of the computer entity know as Main 63.

  “We are in the Solar System,” the robotic voice began.

  “What?” the Centurion said, startled by the comment.

  “The Solar System is the origin point of the human race.”

  “Ah…”

  “Are you addled?”

  The Centurion struggled with the question. Finally, he said, “Humans do poorly in confinement.”

  “You are in top physical condition.”

  “Because I exercise all the time,” the Centurion said.

  “The reason is immaterial.”

  The Centurion tapped the side of his head. “I’m talking about my mind. Humans do badly mentally when alone for extended periods.”

  “Of course, I know this,” Main 63 said. “I but tested you and am testing your truthfulness.”

  The Centurion frowned. Was the AI lying or telling the truth? He wasn’t sure. Thus, he waited.

  “I am curious,” Main 63 said. “I have received several communications from your human leader.”

  “From Jon Hawkins?” the Centurion asked.

  “Negative,” the Main said, “from Premier Wurzburg.”

  “I don’t know her.”

  “Why are you lying?”

  The Centurion shook his head. “I have no reason to lie to you.”

  The swirling patterns on the wall slowed down. “I will show you,” Main 63 said. “Perhaps that will refresh your memory.”

  The swirling patterns disappeared. In their place on the wall appeared a plain, older woman wearing a stylish turban and a dark business suit and tie. She had intelligent brown eyes and had a completely neutral face.

  “I am Premier Alice Wurzburg of the Solar League,” she said in a quiet and confident voice. “We have seen your fleet and wish to inquire concerning your intentions. I await a transmission so we can communicate further.”

  The turbaned woman froze afterward, and the swirling patterns resumed, taking her place.

  The Centurion lurched slightly forward at that. Although Premier Wurzburg was old and plain, the Centurion had fallen in love with her as she’d spoken. He had not seen another human…he didn’t know the timeframe. He longed to see her face again. He longed to hear her speak once more. Oh, if only he could speak to her.

  “What has happened to you?” Main 63 said. “You look…stupid. Have you become stupid?”

  “Ah…no,” the Centurion said.

  “What do you make of her words?”

  “She wishes to speak to you,” the Centurion said.

  “Clearly that is the case,” Main 63 said. “Why does she want to talk to me?”

  The Centurion shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Could she conceivably be trying to surrender?”

  The Centurion shrugged again.

  “I believe she is a devious human,” Main 63 said. “If I am correct, I would communicate. I would use you as my spokesman.”

  The Centurion turned away as hope welled within his chest. He knew that he would never leave Main 63 alive. But he’d also given up hope that he’d ever get to talk to another person again. The idea of talking to Premier Wurzburg and communicating—

  The Centurion nodded. “I will be your spokesman.”

  “Do you think she is devious?”

  “Yes,” the Centurion said. He would say anything in order to get the chance to speak with her.

  “You are lying to me. But I shall make the test in any case. Perhaps she will give something critical away and make my task easier.”

  The Centurion was hardly listening. He was going to talk to Premier Wurzburg. Oh, this was a dream come true.

  -9-

  Premier Alice Wurzburg of the Solar League was in a high state of shock. Only a highly developed sense of survival had driven her to take defensive actions faster than those around her, and that had led to her temporary safety.

  Her cunning and agile political maneuverability had allowed her to rise under the Premiership of J.P. Justinian and later overthrow Frank Benz. After the original departure of Jon Hawkins, she had captured most of the Solar System. Later, she had made a deal with Jon Hawkins, allowing millions of malcontents to leave for deep space and thus solidifying her hold of the entire system.

  She had an iron grip of the military because she owned the GSB body and soul. Now, however, because of the impossible invasion armada, everything tottered, threatening a system-wide collapse.

  As noted, Alice Wurzburg had moved fast. She was deep underground in a special bunker under the Swiss Alps. It could withstand direct nuclear strikes. Special and highly motivated GSB
agents guarded the underground facility. They were all fanatically loyal to the Social Dynamist creed, and they had all risen high under her leadership. She could depend on them.

  Yet…she no longer knew if she could depend on the military as society collapsed around them.

  The culprit was the massive AI fleet heading in-system from the Oort cloud. The size of the robot ships had befuddled everyone. The stunned space service operators had let too many people know what rushed in-system from the Oort cloud. For reasons she had not yet been able to determine, the knowledge had instantly gone public.

  If she could find the fools that had allowed that to happen, she would let the GSB torture them for years and record everything.

  A warship the size of Mars and five others the size of Luna led almost two hundred cyberships. Many years ago already, three AI cyberships had almost destroyed the Solar System. Humanity had barely defeated the three vessels at the famous and deadly Battle of Mars.

  Who could save humanity from the massed robot invasion now?

  The home world was going mad as entire continents full of people rioted with wild abandon. She had lost news of Venus, Mars, Neptune and Uranus—

  Alice shook her head.

  The combined Solar League fleet would be like fleas against the robot mass. The AIs had a world-ship. How could this be happening to her?

  Alice Wurzburg was too drained to pace. She lay on a couch in her office, with a wet cloth on her face. She had sent a message to the enemy fleet. Maybe she could negotiate a peace settlement with them, anything.

  Someone knocked on her door.

  Alice almost said, “Enter.” That would have been a mistake, though. She was the leader of Social Dynamism. If her people believed she had lost heart, they would seek a stronger person to show them the way.

  Alice removed the wet cloth and sat up. “Enter,” she said sternly.

  A GSB guard opened the door. He was big, maybe seven and a half feet tall. He had the bulk to match, although his head was much too small for his size. Thomas wasn’t a smart guard, but he would literally do anything she said.

  “The GSB Director would like to talk to you, ma’am,” Thomas said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

  “Let him in, but stay yourself,” Alice said.

  Thomas motioned to someone unseen. A moment later, a lean black-uniformed man named Peterson walked into the office. He looked like a scared rabbit and always chose his words with care, but he had a ruthless streak that Alice had come to appreciate.

  The nuclear mines under former enemy cities had been Peterson’s brainchild. It had gone a long way to cementing her power throughout the Solar System.

  Raising an eyebrow, Peterson glanced at Thomas.

  “He stays,” Alice said.

  Peterson didn’t nod, but the slump in his shoulders caused Alice to wonder if she should order Thomas to strangle the secret police chief this instant.

  Alice moved slowly and—she hoped—serenely behind her desk, sitting down. She did not give Peterson permission to sit. She wanted to make him squirm.

  “I have bad news, ma’am,” Peterson said.

  “More?” she asked.

  “Solar League fleet units are fleeing,” Peterson said.

  The words befuddled Alice. “Fleeing where?” she asked.

  “To the Oort cloud,” Peterson said.

  Alice frowned. “They’re going to meet the AIs?”

  “The fleet units are moving in exactly the opposite direction of the approaching enemy ships,” Peterson said. “They’re getting as far from the enemy as possible.”

  “For what possible reason?” asked Alice.

  “Those are the experimental hyperspace ships.”

  The Solar League had not yet used hyperspace but had been studying what they knew from the AIs and from the damnable Confederation.

  “The ships are running away?” Alice asked, stunned. “They’re going to head to other star systems.”

  “I believe so,” Peterson said.

  Alice suddenly wondered if that wasn’t the right idea. If the experiential hyperspace vessels worked, she could escape the AIs and thus escape certain doom. She could couch her flight in political language. Someone had to keep the human race and Social Dynamism alive, after all.

  “Well?” she asked. “Did the ship captains leave any messages?”

  Peterson shook his head.

  She pretended to think, and then asked in a seemingly neutral voice. “Are any of the experiential ships left in Earth orbit?” she asked, trying to make it a military question.

  Peterson leered at her. He must know what she was thinking—likely, because he’d already reached the same conclusion.

  The GSB Director nodded.

  “How many are left?” Alice asked, her voice thickening.

  “Three,” Peterson said.

  “And the rest of the fleet?” she asked.

  “The various fleet units are awaiting your command, ma’am.”

  “You mean the fleet units that do not have hyperspace capacity?”

  “That is correct,” Peterson said.

  “They’re going to fight for human survival,” she said quietly.

  Director Peterson said nothing to that.

  Alice Wurzburg came to a decision.

  “There is one other thing,” Peterson said, interrupting her thought.

  “What?”

  “The AI world-ship has responded to your message. He is using someone called the Centurion to reply to you.”

  “What?” she asked.

  Peterson looked at her more closely.

  She could almost read his mind. The director was likely wondering if she’d lost it. Well, she hadn’t. But she was having trouble concentrating.

  “The Centurion appears to have been one of Jon Hawkins’ right-hand men,” Peterson said. “The AIs undoubtedly captured him—”

  “Wait,” Alice said, interrupting. “Hawkins is allied with the AIs?”

  “Some of the scientists think that’s possible.”

  “The bastard,” she hissed. “Hawkins sold us out.”

  “Before we could sell him out,” Peterson said.

  “That’s uncalled for,” Alice said, sharply, surprised the director would say something like that so openly. “We’re humanity’s leaders. We fight for human interests.”

  Peterson nodded quickly, appearing frightened by his hasty remark—it went against his normal behavior, certainly.

  She ignored Peterson then, thinking hard. “Could we make a deal with the AIs?” she asked.

  “We can try,” Peterson said, as if he didn’t really believe it was possible.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What are you thinking?”

  He gave her a crafty look. “May I speak freely, ma’am?”

  “I demand that you do.”

  “We should…inspect the last three hyperspace-capable vessels in orbit. Maybe it would be a good time to test them.”

  Alice stared at him. If she had good survival instincts, the director of the GSB might even have better.

  “Yes,” she said slowly. “We should inspect the SL cyberships. Afterward…afterward I can speak to the AI’s representative.”

  “We should head upstairs as soon as possible,” Peterson said.

  “I agree,” Alice said. “We need to leave before the entire world falls down around our ears.”

  -10-

  The Magistrate Yellow Efrel led her Earth Colony Seiners through a packed tube-train station in Milan, Italy Sector.

  She was an old Seiner and never wore a pseudo-skin disguise anymore because she found it so uncomfortable. Instead, she wore a cloak with a deep hood. In order to help the hood hide her blue fish-scale face, she wore a veil in the Islamic manner. She had white gloves and flowing clothing. There was no part of her open to prying human sight.

  Seventy-three Seiners pushed their way through the Milan tube-train station crowds. Sixty-eight of the Seiners wore human-skin disguises.
Of the seventy-three, twelve were first grade telepaths and nineteen were second grade, as good as Red Demeter had once been.

  They had refrained from any telepathy, using cash, credits and a show of guns when needed.

  The world was going mad because of the knowledge of certain doom. The Magistrate Yellow Efrel had had an escape plan in place. The human guards of her air cars had all fled, however. Thus, the Seiner Colony on Earth had resorted to street vans and now attempted to board a special tube train to the Zurich Spaceport.

  Magistrate Yellow Efrel panted from the exertion of walking so much. Her feet ached from wearing shoes and she moaned every time she set a foot down. The stink of packed humanity was strong in the ticket area. She felt nauseous.

  These days, Yellow Efrel mainly cavorted in her private saltwater tank and let the younger ones handle the day-to-day Seiner operations.

  A great AI fleet had appeared in the Oort cloud. News of the coming doom had descended as a cloudburst upon humanity. The Seiner tentacles into human society had snapped under the rioting pressure.

  Now, Yellow Efrel led her Seiners on a last-ditch plan. The rioting pigs might actually guarantee the genocide of the last Seiners in existence. That was a horrifying idea. It actually sickened Yellow Efrel and she halted abruptly and vomited the special fish she normally ate.

  The mess splashed onto the concrete, and a few humans saw that. Something about the purple mess must have alerted their riot-heightened senses.

  “Aliens!” one of the pig people bellowed.

  The surging crowds must have heard that cry. Higher-pitched screams went up.

  Plan Ten, Yellow Efrel thought at her best telepaths.

  Seconds later, a combined telepathic blast hit the entire area. Humans went down in clumps. All around the great arcade people simply swooned and hit the deck. A second blast finished the stubborn ones, knocking them down as well.

  That left seventy-three Seiners standing. Not one other soul moved, all lay dead in the great building.

  “To the tube train,” Yellow Efrel said in her old voice. “We must reach the spaceport before all order breaks down.”

  ***

  Premier Alice Wurzburg, nine of her best staff personnel, 15 hulking bodyguards of the Thomas type, GSB Director Peterson and five of his most loyal killers hurried out of a turbo-car onto the spaceport tarmac. As a group, they hurried toward a waiting heavy lifter.