by Allan, Jay
Her vision slowly cleared and she looked around, taking stock of her surroundings. It was a building of some sort, old and abandoned. It was gloomy and dark, but she knew it was day outside. A shaft of sunlight lanced through a hole in the ceiling, lighting the garbage strewn floor a few feet from where she lay.
“Where the hell am I?” she asked, slowly pulling herself up to a seated position. The pain in her head increased, like a dull saw cutting through her temples. She tried to remember…she’d just disembarked at the Washbalt Spaceport. It was coming back, slowly and in disjointed bits. The security office…yes, that was it. She’d been detained by spaceport security. No…something was wrong. She remembered her doubt, then the realization…these aren’t spaceport guards…they’re Alliance Intelligence.
Now she began to remember it all. She’d been around enough AI agents to know them when she saw them. She screamed out commands, threatening, identifying herself as Number Three…ordering them to release her, to take her to Alliance HQ. But they didn’t say a word; they just dragged her into a back room. She was still shouting, demanding to see Gavin Stark, when she felt the injection…then, nothing.
She looked around the room. She was lying on a pile of debris, wreckage from the structure and assorted garbage. The building had probably been a residence once, but now it looked like it was barely standing. Her head snapped around quickly toward a noise to her left. There were two rats tearing into a discarded bag in the corner.
Her head was clearing, and with it, she started to feel the rest of the pain. The cut she’d just suffered began to throb, and now she noticed other wounds, one on her arm, another on her leg. Rat bites, she thought, reaching down to tear off part of her tunic to wrap up her injuries. But it wasn’t there…her tunic was gone.
She was wearing a black dress, a very short one. Her feet were bare, but there were two shoes lying nearby…evidently they’d fallen off. They were heels, extremely expensive ones, she noted. Realization slowly dawned on her…they were hers, and the dress too. Someone had stolen them from her apartment and changed her into them while she was unconscious.
Her anger flared. She was Number Three, one of the most powerful women in the Alliance. Whoever was responsible for this would pay, that much she promised herself. But her enthusiasm for revenge quickly faded as she began to think things through, to understand. Only one person could have done this to her. Gavin Stark.
Her senses were coming back, and the stench of her surroundings became unbearable. She had to fight back the urge to retch. I’ve got to get out of here, she thought…figure out where I am. She slowly rose to her feet, looking around for something to bind her wounds. He first thought was to tear off a piece of her dress, but it was a garment she used for seductions, and there wasn’t much material to spare. Besides, it was made of high grade hypersilk; she’d practically need a molecular blade to cut it. Tearing it by hand was impossible.
She found a filthy rag in one of the piles, and tied it around the gash on her leg. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way she could stop the bleeding. She staggered over toward the doorway. The door itself was half knocked in, hanging from one hinge. She walked over to it to get a look outside. Her shoes were best suited for Washbalt political functions at fancy hotels, not trudging through abandoned buildings. But the ground was strewn with broken glass and shards of metal - she needed something on her feet. Finally, she broke off the heels. It wasn’t a great solution, but it worked after a fashion. At least she could get around without tearing her feet to shreds.
She peered around the edge of the doorway. The Washbalt skyline was looming above the decrepit buildings along the street. Until then she hadn’t had any idea where she was. She could have easily been in Detroit or New Cairo or Shanghai. It took her a few seconds to get her bearings, but she managed to put together a good idea of exactly where she was. That motherfucker, she thought…he had me dumped in the East Ward slums. The East Ward was a notorious gang battlefield, so dangerous, even the Cogs had mostly deserted it, preferring to sleep in the streets in the marginally safer northern ghettoes. The Marines swept through once in a while on recruiting runs, but the police avoided it entirely.
She leaned back inside, taking one last look to see if there was anything useful in the building. Nope, she thought with a sigh…nothing but garbage. She turned to step outside when the door came flying in and broke completely from the hinge. She stumbled backwards, landing painfully on a pile of broken masonry.
Three men walked in and stood inside the door. Two held mid-sized knives, like machetes, but smaller. The third had a small, gunpowder pistol tucked in his belt. Training kicked in, experience, instinct. Her eyes focused on them like lasers, scanning, evaluating the respective threat levels. Her mind flashed back, the years peeling away to a different Alex, a young girl trying to survive in a brutal slum very much like this one…a 14 year old girl who had been pursued and victimized by animals like this.
But this was a different Alex Linden now. She’d been confused on Armstrong, conflicted about her feelings. But now, familiarity began to return. Her mind was focused, feral…combat reflexes ready. The gang members looked at her with hungry, greedy eyes…like hunters stalking cornered prey. But this was no helpless Core-dweller lost in the slums. Alex Linden was an ice cold killer who’d put more men and women in their graves than all three of her would-be attackers combined.
She crawled back slowly, whimpering. Use fear, she thought…increase their confidence, turn their own sadism against them. She forced out a tear, then another.
“Look what we got here, boys.” One of the knife-wielders turned and looked back at his companions. His voice was thick with menace. “She’s a damned pretty one.” His eyes panned back to leer at Alex, lying on the ground, golden blond hair a riotous mess, her already short dress hiked up over her waist. “And the man said we could have our fun before we did the deed…didn’t he now?”
The man? Alex was focusing on everything, watching every move, listening to every sound. That fucking piece of shit, she thought, rage coursing through her body…“the man” could only be Gavin Stark. He’d sent these gang-bangers here. To kill her? Or just to torture her? If he’d just wanted to be rid of her, she knew she’d have never seen it coming.
Get a grip, she thought…time for Stark later. The man who’d spoken was moving toward her, reaching down to grab her. But her eyes were on the one in the rear, the one with the gun. He was the bigger threat. She had to take him down first. She looked up at the closer one, tears streaming down her eyes. “No…please.” The sound of fear in her voice was utterly convincing.
He smiled broadly, eyes glittering. “Don’t you worry, girl. It ain’t gonna hurt. Much.” He leaned down, grabbing her exposed thigh.
She lay there, immobile, whimpering softly as he moved his hand up, grabbing for her panties. Then she lunged, planting her fist in his groin as she flew by, her body heading straight for the gun-armed assailant. She planted an open palm just above his sternum, a death blow taught to Alliance Intelligence’s elite assassins. He was dead even as his body began to fall. Her hand whipped down, grabbing the gun from his waist as he crumpled and putting two shots in the head of the third man.
It was all over in just a few seconds. Two of the men lay dead on the ground; the third was doubled over, groaning on the garbage pile where Alex had lain just an instant before. She walked over toward him, leaning down and picking up the blade he’d dropped. She looked down at him holding the knife as he shook in fear. “I’m afraid you’re quite mistaken, my good man.” She glared at him with a predator’s eyes. “It’s going to hurt. Quite a lot.”
Gavin Stark sat at his desk, a self-satisfied smile on his face as he watched the scene reach its graphic conclusion. He leaned over, pressing his com button. “Please send Agent G in.” He loved the anonymity of his new elite team. They were part of the Shadow project, and if everything else worked as well as they had, his plans would be very successful indeed.
He was the only one who had complete information; everyone else involved in the program had only partial data…and much of that was fake. He had a few vacancies in his new spy corps…he’d been using them hard, and some missions required a certain amount of…cleanup...afterward. But for the most part, things were going very well.
He winced slightly as he watched Alex extract her revenge on the hapless gang-banger. “Whatever I paid those boys, it wasn’t enough,” he whispered to himself with a laugh. “That’s my Alex.”
The door slid open. “You sent for me, sir?” Stark’s man looked the part…tall, handsome, well-groomed.
“Yes.” He was still watching on his monitor, though the last of Alex’s attackers was finally dead. In the end, she’d made him beg for it. “I want you to take a security detail and go fetch Number Three. I think she’s had enough.” He paused then added, “Be careful. Don’t underestimate her. She is very dangerous.” He glanced up from his desk. “And go put on a uniform. I’d just as soon she thinks I only sent regular security to get her.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned and walked through the door without another word.
Stark leaned back in his chair and spoke softly to himself. “Well, my sweet little Alex, now we can have our talk. I trust this little adventure will serve as a reminder about who you are truly are…and where you came from. Where you could easily end up again.”
Chapter 20
Bridge – AS Midway
X2 System
Near X1 Warp Gate
Terrance Compton sat at the head of the conference table, looking at the screen, mesmerized by what he saw. So that’s what the inside of a First Imperium ship looks like, he thought. It was similar to a human vessel in some ways, yet vastly different in others. It was odd to follow the video through the empty, silent corridors. They were small, far too tiny in places for men to pass. But they were built for the bots that serviced the vessel and repaired its damage. Bots that were now silent, mysteriously deactivated like the rest of the ship.
“It is clear that the enemy is vastly ahead of us in nano-technology, as they are in virtually all areas.” Thomas Sparks stood alongside the table, continuing his report. “The operation of the vessel appears to be through a combination of dedicated automated systems and independent bots of various types. It is clear the ship was purpose built for robot operation, however I also hypothesize that the design was adapted from one originally intended to be crewed by organic beings. There are vestigial systems and design features that appear to strongly support this theory.”
Compton fidgeted in his chair. “General Sparks, I think we all appreciate any insight on our enemy, and I have no doubt we could sit here for days and theorize about the First Imperium and its technology.” He was speaking gently, trying not to sound scolding. He understood the scientist was fascinated at all the new data, but he also knew he had to find a way to defeat the enemy – and do it soon. Otherwise nothing else mattered. “May I suggest that we focus first on matters of tactical significance…things that may be useful in the short term.”
Sparks nodded. “Of course, Admiral Compton.” Sparks was a Marine research engineer, and his own curiosity generally ran to weapons and strategic systems. But he was overwhelmed now, and distracted, his mind running in a hundred directions. “While I am hopeful that further research on that vessel will lead to large leaps forward in many of our offensive and defensive systems, I am afraid we found little that is likely to be of immediate use.” He panned across the table, his eyes settling on Compton. “Immediate being defined as the duration of this campaign.”
Compton wasn’t surprised. He really didn’t expect to peel open that ship and find a superweapon sitting there with an instruction manual. He’d hoped they might find some sort of tactical weakness in the enemy vessel…something his people could use in battle. But even that, he realized, would take, at the very least, months of research to decipher…and probably years.
“I believe I can offer a reasonable explanation as to how this ship fell into our hands, at least. The First Imperium operates, as we already know, on a very hierarchal basis. It appears their warships work in a similar manner, with a single central AI running virtually every aspect of ship operations.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It is logical if you imagine an operating system designed by a computer and not an organic being. Our own ships require multiple officers, for example, because even the most proficient captain can’t manage all aspects of running a large vessel. In turn, we utilize multiple AIs on our vessels, even though we could build a single unit powerful enough to replace the others. Although this is the purest speculation, our early research and development likely replicated our existing pattern of apportioning work to multiple individuals. Thus, we went down a path of distributing the workload while the First Imperium, at least for many thousands of years, was directed by artificial intelligences that opted for centralization.”
Sparks shifted again. His rapid trip from Sigma 4 on the Torch transport, followed by climbing into his armor and crawling around the enemy ship, had left him stiff and sore. He was exhausted too, but the mental stimulation of all the new data was temporarily overcoming his physical fatigue. “It appears that a First Imperium vessel is entirely dependent upon its core AI system. This would be enormously useful to us in battle, except the artificial intelligence unit is located in the most heavily shielded and defended part of the ship. It is virtually impossible to damage until the vessel itself has been blasted to pieces.” He paused, then added, “Indeed, we may someday discover a method for disrupting or disabling these systems from long range. If we are able to achieve that, the advantage in the conflict would almost certainly shift dramatically in our favor.” Another pause. “Of course, we are nowhere close to developing a method for accomplishing this.”
Compton leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate the potential future implications of this information, but how does it explain what happened in this case? Why this particular ship simply stopped functioning?”
“I’m sorry, sir…I was getting to that.” Sparks took a breath. “I believe that there was a malfunction in the main power conduit leading to the AI, a freak incident. Most likely there was a manufacturing flaw, and the kinetic energy from the torpedo hit caused a break. In essence, the plug got pulled on the ship’s brain. Unfortunately, it is not something we can replicate. Just a lucky break.” He paused, then added, “Clearly, the long term implications of our ability to study an intact First Imperium AI are enormous…though, again, it is unlikely to produce anything practical in the near term. At this point, I haven’t even been able to determine how to open the case yet.”
Compton let out a long breath. “Yes, general, I’d have to agree than capturing that AI is a potentially enormous development.” Assuming we survive long enough for your people to figure it out, he thought, though he kept that part to himself. “Is there anything of more immediate usefulness? I can’t believe we won’t be facing a fight here soon, and any insights that can give us an edge would be most welcome.”
“I’m afraid nothing of immediate tactical significance, sir.” He paused, then added, “There is one more thing of possible interest, though I doubt its utility in terms of aiding us with imminent combat. I’m afraid, also, it is based on the wildest of suppositions.” Sparks had clearly been unsure if he should even bring it up.
“By all means, general, please continue.” Compton straightened a little in his chair, his eyes brightening ever so slightly. Sparks was a genius and Compton, for one, would listen to his wildest guesses with rapt attention. “I can assure you that anything you wish to speculate on is of interest.”
“Well, admiral…” Sparks was clearly still hesitant. He was an engineer, trained to focus on facts…or at least theories based on solid evidence. “…we found a certain type of bot on the enemy ship, a type we have never seen before.” He paused again.
Compton was staring at Sparks, listening intently. “Yes, Tom? Say what y
ou’re thinking.”
“I believe it is some type of authorization bot, sir. It is my…ah…wild guess…that they act as keys to activate vital systems. An extra layer of security, preventing implementation of various processes unless one of these keys is present and deployed.”
“Tom, I know this is all guesswork, but your gut feel on this is better than anything else we have.” Compton was interested now. “Please elaborate. Just go through your thought process for us.”
“Yes, sir.” Sparks took a deep breath. “First, they appear to be constructed to connect with other equipment. We have previously speculated that the enemy utilized a form of universal interface between systems. That theory is supported by our preliminary examination of the captured vessel. In fact, it appears there are at least three types of interface, and these are evidently based upon the security level of the system in question.”
Sparks glanced at Compton, who nodded for him to continue. “Secondly, we have found connection interfaces on captured First Imperium equipment and debris that match these bots.” He paused and looked right at Compton. “Including on Epsilon Eridani IV.”
Compton’s eyes widened. “Please continue, general.”
“There are sections of the Epsilon Eridani complex that appeared to be fully intact, yet are completely non-functional. This now makes more sense to me. The complex has a large number of these interfaces in areas we projected where vital to the overall operation.” He was nodding as he spoke. “If I am correct…and that is an enormous ‘if’…we may very well be able to activate at least sections of the great machine on Carson’s World. These bots may jumpstart our ability to produce antimatter in quantity more effectively than a thousand years of research could.”