Counter-Measures

by W. Michael Gear

  "Why didn't you go?"

  "Father wouldn't let me. He said I get into too much trouble as it is, and he most assuredly wouldn't let me, as

  he put it, 'drag the family reputation through the shit' at University. "

  "And now you want to be a Companion? Well, little rich girl, we'll see."

  Lark started. "Back in the office, you said--

  "I meant it. I meant everything I've said to you. But let's spell out our relationship, all right?"

  "All right. "

  "You're an apprentice, do you understand? That doesn't mean you can land at Itreata, don the uniform, and swagger down the halls like Tap, Ryman, or me.

  It means you've got the chance to learn and earn your way. And, Lark, it never stops. It's not like University, where you graduate and the degree is yours forever. "

  Lark's green eyes narrowed. "I understand. I have to make it on my own. "

  "And it isn't just being smart and talented, Lark. Here's the part I'm not sure you can crack. I don't know if you have the discipline to make it."

  Lark took a swig of her choklat. "And who decides this?" "I do." Skyla tapped her fingers on the tabletop. "My part of the deal is this. I'll train you and try you every way I can. If I give you an order, you're not to question it at that time. You go do it. If it seems stupid and sadistic, you endure. But when it's over and you've completed your assignment, and you still have questions about what I was doing, then you ask, and we'll talk about what I wanted you to learn, or what I was testing. Fair enough?"

  "Fair enough. " Lark thought for a moment. "That means you're going to try and break me somehow, doesn't it?" Skyla gave her a sober, searching look. "I give you my

  word that I'll push you to the end of your endurance. By the time we catch Ily, I'll know whether you'll make it as a Companion, or not."

  "I'll make it, Skyla. You just watch."

  Staffa walked with his head down, lost in thought. Makarta weighed on him as if he could feel the decision, like the tons of rock bearing down upon him.

  From the darkened corners and niches, he could feel the eyes of the dead peer-ing at him. Yes, they watched, waiting to see whether their deaths had been spent wisely by the Star Butcher, or if he were really the same monster he'd always been.

  Unbidden, his steps led him to the entrance to the stairway. He saluted the two STU who stood guard at the mouth of the stairs and started down, feet grating on the rock. With each step, doubt vied with desperation. How could he determine whether or not to trust the machine? The only man with direct experience with the Mag Comm emphatically and violently denounced the idea.

  Staffa descended, step by loose-jointed step. Bruen's mind can successfully partition itself. The man had feared the Mag Comm, loathed it.

  Kaylla reports that we're out of time. If you hesitate much longer, something will break. Something we haven't anticipated.

  The thump of his boot heels on the cool stone echoed around him, stirring the ghosts. You can't simply surrender humanity to an alien machine, Staffa. You have accepted responsibility for the future of the people. You must know whether this is the right choice, or not.

  His shoulder rubbed the wall, the sound grating. How can you tell if the machine is lying? What if it sees this as its chance to become a tyrant the likes of which Ily Takka could never aspire to?

  The stone hemmed him in, no more than centimeters from his elbows. He walked through a narrow womb of Targan rock, each breath audible in the restricted space. If the machine can read your mind, it will know your fear. How can you trust it ?

  Staffa continued to descend, each step that of a man condemned. If we cannot find a solution now, today, or tomorrow, we are destroyed anyway. The machine has the capability to run our civilization. I've seen the sort of data produced by the machine. It can do the job.

  He stepped out into the hidden chamber and stopped, cloak billowing. There he stood, feet braced before the machine, watching the lights gleam and shift.

  The summons light continued to flash on and off. Two techs who had been pouring over a piece of diagnostic equipment, noticed his arrival and rose.

  "Has it done anything?"

  "No, sir. We've been taking readings. To be honest, sir, we're baffled. Our detectors can pick up energy fluctuations, but they're not within parameters for computer operation. We've been asking the machine to perform functions and recording the reactions on the light panel. "

  The tech pointed to the blinking lights that flashed in all colors. "On a normal system, a light flashes to inform you which boards the comm is accessing. Comms have lights strictly as a means of communication with the operator. In all cases, illumination follows a given pattern. With the Mag Comm, sir, we can't determine a pattern. "

  "Then what do you think the lights do?"

  "My guess, sir-and you must understand, it's only a guess-is that all those lights are for show."

  "For show? To impress us?"

  The tech shrugged nervously. "Like I said, sir. That's a shot in the dark.

  Maybe there's a pattern we can't discern. Maybe it's something beyond our comprehension. This machine is different from anything I'm familiar with, and I can tell you this. What you see here is only a terminal. The main boards are somewhere else-I'd guess deeper in the rock. "

  "And the power for the machine?"

  "Based on the preliminary readings we're getting, I'd say that the Seddi are correct in their assessment that the machine draws off the radioactive decay at the planet's core. "

  "Do you think there are other terminals? More like this one in other deep caverns in the planet?"

  The tech shrugged again. "I can't tell you, sir. Right now, we're still in the initial stages of our investigation. I understand the need to produce reliable data as fast as possible, but I can't mislead you. We don't know whorecrap about this thing, and we're not going to unlock any of its secrets anytime soon. Not with the technology we've got available to us on Targa. Back at Itreata, we might be able to pry a bit more information out of this thing."

  Staffa squinted at the huge machine, nodding. "Thank you for your assessment, and for your honesty. I would appreciate it if you would go and find Lord Fist. Give him your report and ask him to come down here. "

  "Yes, sir. " Both techs saluted and left, their steps rasping hollowly as they began the climb up the long stairway.

  Staffa rubbed his chin, staring at the panel that covered the wall. "A light show to impress us? Indeed. And why would a machine of your computational power need a fancy light show to keep the primitives in order?"

  Staffa made his decision, bending down and pulling the techs' recorder from their pile of equipment.

  Staffa pressed the button to energize the machine and began dictating orders.

  If this turned sour, ready or not, Sinklar would have his taste of responsibility.

  Satisfied, Staffa placed the recorder beside the recliner and reached for the golden helmet where it enveloped the transmitter.

  I must know what I'm dealing with. There is no other choice. Staffa licked dry lips, lifting the helmet, feeling the familiar prickling sensation run along his arms. Nerving himself, he settled in the recliner, leaning back.

  His scalp tingled as if a thousand electric spiders swarmed over his skull.

  Slowly, he lowered the helmet, committed to meeting the machine on its own ground. As he pulled it tight, his arms spasmed and flopped lifelessly, the shout stillborn in his throat, his mouth half opened for the bellow that never came.

  CHAPTER 25

  5780:02:03:04:45 Reg/Mil/Com/Phil CIC/Reg/Corn

  Three planetary hours ago, elements of the Fifth Targan Assault Division dropped simultaneously on Phillipia, securing the Capitol building and key facilities. As of this communique, no organized resistance has been reported.

  Groups and Sections continue to secure their objectives as dawn breaks over the capital city. At this time, all public utilities are under military control and social pacificat
ion has begun.

  The revolt leader, Marvin Hanks, is currently in custody. Hanks was captured in his sleeping platform this morning, along with his mistress. His wife, who was staying at the family estate, has been informed of the status of both Hanks and his girlfriend. The latter was released after questioning.

  While no organized resistance has been reported, it must be noted that an undercurrent of mistrust and unrest is manifested by the general population.

  This occupation and administration must be conducted with a great deal of care. One misstep-the creation of a single incident as a result of poor judgment at the Group or Section level-could precipitate a ground swell of popular resentment that could lead us in to a bloody quagmire.

  Respectfully submitted:

  Fifth Targan Assault Division Division First Ayms Commander The portable office Sinklar stood in consisted of four white duraplast walls studded with comm equipment and holo projectors. A work station filled the middle of the floor and could seat twelve around the square central table.

  Overhead, amidst the clutter of projectors, atmosphere plant, and lights, skylights let in the midday sun. All in all, the place had better facilities than an LC command center.

  Sinklar glanced over his shoulder. Adze-impregnable in her shining STU

  gear-stood at one side of the small office; Mhitshul-drab in his Regan field armor-stood at the other. "Great. Now I've got two mothers."

  Mhitshul's long face betrayed hurt. Adze's dark eyes narrowed slightly, hardening into obsidian while her jaw muscles clenched. Were their relationship different, it would have boded him nothing but future ill.

  Sinklar laughed to himself, a sign of the good mood he'd developed. "Well, it could be worse, couldn't it? This way I'll eat right and no one will shoot me in the back."

  He finished the last of his reports, filing them in the comm. He'd been contacting his commanders, feeling them out as to their trust in the Mag Comm.

  His Targans, Shiksta, Mac, Ayms, and the rest were solidly thumbs-down on the idea. The Regans, like Dion Axel and Rysta, voted for.

  So, where do you come down, Sink? He pulled at his knobby nose, frowning at the comm. Trust the stinking Seddi and their pus-eating machine?

  He shook his head, looking up as an STU stuck his head in and said, "Sir?

  We've got a shuttle landing with Magister Bruen and Nyklos aboard."

  "Where's Staffa? "

  "He said you were in charge, sir.

  Sinklar nodded, getting to his feet. He looked at Mhitshul. "Find the Lord Commander for me. Tell him Bruen is here. I'll see to making the Seddi comfortable. "

  "Better you than me, sir. " Mhitshul said, giving Adze a skeptical sidelong look before leaving. Sinklar bent to the comm again, checking the housing, and finding a freshly erected dome across the compound from Staffa's.

  And suitably far from my own.

  "No love is lost between you and the Seddi, " Adze noted.

  "None whatsoever." Sinklar straightened. "But I suppose I'd better see to manufacturing some. " He gave her the old devil-may-care crooked grin.

  "Because evidently, I've got to get along with the dung-dripping old fool. "

  Sinklar stepped out into the sunlight, pulling his unadorned uniform straight.

  The breeze played with his mop of black hair as he walked toward the landing zone. The spring had come back into his step, but his stomach cramped at the thought of being polite to Bruen.

  He slowed, searching the clear blue sky. There, the dot dropped from the heavens, a faint roar growing to mute the bird song and insects.

  Sinklar watched as other Special Tactics Unit members scrambled into positions, each taking responsibility for a field of fire. Sinklar nodded his appreciation; these people never let up. They lived for security-even when one of their own ships was spacing in.

  The long wedge of shuttle pulled up as it approached, killing velocity with a roar of distended flaps, then maneuvering in on retros, the blast scouring the ground of loose dust and stripped leaves. The vessel settled, thrusters dropping to a low whine as the craft powered down.

  The belly ramp clanked and lowered with a howling of servos and hydraulics.

  Sinklar started forward, nose insulted by the acrid stench of the hot exhaust.

  Two STU trotted down the ramp, shoulder weapons at parade rest. They knocked out salutes and stepped to the side.

  A tall muscular man with a thick mustache and black bushy brows led the way as two tech specialists jockeyed an antigrav gurney down the ramp.

  "You must be Master Nyklos," Sinklar greeted as formally as he could.

  Nyklos nodded, a grim smile on his lips. "Lord Fist. It's a pleasure to meet you." He offered a hand. Sinklar hoped his revulsion didn't show as he shook it.

  "How's Magister Bruen? Well?" Or will you make my day and tell me he croaked in the middle of the night?

  "As well as can be expected. " Nyklos glanced around, squinting in the light.

  "It's been a long time since I've been to Makarta. "

  "I've seen to your quarters, that dome over there should be satisfactory. If you have any questions, contact my aide, Mhitshul. He should be able to help you.

  Nyklos crossed his arms. "Where's the Lord Cammander? "

  "Attending to business."

  Bruen's antigrav slowed beside them. "Greetings, Sinklar," Bruen's cracked voice grated on Sink's ears.

  ful, Sink. Don't let the disgust show. "We have preCare pared quarters for you, Magister. You've had a long trip. Perhaps you'd like to rest?"

  Bruen grunted and resettled himself in the gurney, staring up with watery blue eyes. In the sunlight, his ancient skin appeared puffy and thin, almost translucent. "Yes, I see, still fighting the war, aren't you? Look at the hatred reflected in your monster eyes. "

  The old cold fist tightened on Sinklar's heart. "My dead from the First Targan Division will long to see you pass, Magister. We've been evacuating the bodies for two days now. Perhaps the ghosts will visit you, fill your dreams like they fill mine."

  A sharpness grew in Bruen's eyes. "Don't goad me, boy. I knew you were a monster when I received you from the Praetor. Had I any wits about me, I should have cut your throat then. "

  "I wouldn't talk too loudly about monsters, Magister Bruen. Butla Ret, Valient, or Tanya Fist might hear you. And Arta Fera is still out there . . .

  killing at Ily -Takka's beck and call even as we speak."

  Bruen gasped, raising a hand to grip the edge of the gurney. "You dare talk to me of them? What do you know about what we sought to do? What do you know of the pain Hyde and I felt when we lost each of them? You ... you little, pus-licking maggot!"

  "Magister," Nyklos calmed, reaching through the gravity fields to push the old man down. "Relax, Magister. " To Sinklar he added, "Don't push, Lord Fist. I think there's enough sin to go around for all of us. "

  Sinklar nodded relenting. "Forgive me, Nyklos. The scabs have been picked off poorly healed wounds. "

  Bruen glared at him from the depths of the gurney. "No matter what you think, Fist, we did the best we could given the data we had. We tried to save the people, not enslave

  them the way Staffa would do by joining ranks with that foul machine. "

  Sinklar stifled the urge to pull his pistol, to pay this withered old monster back for the pain, misery, and death he'd meted to so many. "When this.is over, Magister, I'll be happy to discuss teleological ethics with you."

  "In over three hundred years, I've watched arrogant bastards like you come and go, Sinklar. " A bony finger wagged at him from the gravity fields. " You would argue ethics with me? You little-"

  "Perhaps the Magister needs to refresh himself," Nyklos said easily, stepping between Sinklar and Bruen.

  Sinklar took a deep breath, lifting an eyebrow. "I swore this wouldn't happen.

  I promised myself I'd be civil and accommodating. "

  Nyklos smiled, the action twisting the tails of his mustache up. "I fear the Magister
is tired. He's been a trying travel companion. Nor has his mood been the best since we discussed the Mag Comm's capabilities with him."

  "Discussed!" Bruen exploded. "Rot you, Nyklos! You drugged me! Drugged, like a common spy. Now you humiliate me before this little Regan beast!"

  Sinklar whirled, staring down through slitted eyes. "One of these days, I'd like to hear your side of the story, hear how you played with my life like I was another pawn for your game board. Had the opportunity arisen, you'd have used me just like you did Arta, or Ret, or any of your other tools. Yes, look at me like that, Bruen. Staffa has his Praetor to blame . . . and I have you!

  A hard grip had locked on Sinklar's arm, but Bruen just stared, his sunken mouth partly open.

  Sinklar brushed Nyklos' restraining hand away and motioned for Adze to resume her position. At Nyklos' move, she'd pressed herself between them, hard eyes boring into Nyklos' as one hand dropped low, ready to strike.

  "You've a good watchdog, Sinklar," Nyklos mused, smiling as he realized Adze was not only female but attractive and young.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Sinklar started for the dome he'd chosen. As Nyklos matched his step, Sinklar added, "Forgive me again,- Nyklos. It seems that Bruen just brings

  out the worst in me. But then, as you say, we've sin enough to go around for all of us."

  "I understand about those poorly healed wounds you referred to earlier. On behalf of Magister Kaylla Dawn, I would like to offer you my assurances that those days have passed. "

  "Until you sell your souls to the accursed machine again! " Bruen cried from behind. "Blame me, go ahead, but see what comes of your vaunted integrity after that gleaming monster has sunk its tendrils into your brains. Go ahead!

  Put the helmet on! See how it creeps into your mind, inserting its poison into your soul!"

  Sinklar glanced back. "Just what does it do?"

  Bruen glowered up at him. "As a young man I watched good men, conscientious men, place that golden helmet on their heads. Human beings can't conceive of what it's like to have another thinking presence inside our brains. The Mag Comm does that, it violates our very essence of being. It learns the neurons, inserts thoughts. No corner of the mind is left unread or untouched. "