The Soldier

by Neal Asher

  “I love what I am.”

  “Human time?” Dragon enquired.

  “You are deliberately angering my human component to confuse the issue,” said Orlandine. “Explain yourself.”

  “Very well.” Dragon paused again for a long time. “Why is Jain technology active here in this accretion disc?”

  “A weakness in the fabric of space and some connection with the Jain AIs in U-space.”

  “As ever, in all things, correlation is not causation.”

  “You’re saying that the concentration of Jain technology here caused the weakness in space thus opening an easier connection to the AIs?”

  “Again: correlation is not causation.”

  “Perhaps no connection at all?”

  “This is a possibility,” said Dragon. “Just as it is possible that there may be some other as-yet-unknown agency. All Jain technology is a trap.”

  Orlandine replayed the conversation in her mind and this time, rather than get angry, tried some deeper analysis.

  “Are you saying that using the simplest solution for clearing out this infestation of Jain technology may be falling into a trap?” She paused for a second. “I would hardly call gating a black hole here a simple solution.”

  “Something is at work,” said Dragon.

  “These ‘forces at work against us’? Is that what you’re talking about?”

  “Further investigation is required before you initiate your plan.”

  “Why?”

  “That a connection can be made to the Jain AIs is just a by-product of a weakness in the space-time fabric here. The technology infesting the disc reacts to that connection but is not a product of it. Some other intelligence is at work at the interface. An active intelligence.”

  It took a second for Orlandine to process that and all its implications, since it was the longest speech she had ever heard from Dragon.

  “You know this, how?”

  “Because, when I tried to interrogate the Jain AIs about the history of the accretion disc in their time, something cut my connection to them.”

  Orlandine thought long and hard and said, reluctantly, “Then we must find out what this agency is—”

  “Before you try to use a black hole here,” said Dragon.

  “Very well,” Orlandine agreed, then tightly, “but I will continue preparing. Nothing you have said inclines me to think that my plan is the wrong one.”

  Dragon did not reply—the link to it closed. And after all that, Orlandine realized, she still had no explanation as to why Dragon had not destroyed the thing in Weapons Platform Mu, nor about the length of Jain history, its evolutionary twists and why the loss of that platform might yet be a gain.

  7

  I find myself responding with weary, almost jaded acceptance, when yet another dangerous AI destructively reveals itself to us. Ah, what’s this, Earth Central? What’s this, all you pure-minded wonderfully advanced AIs of the Polity? What’s this, you paragons of virtue who gaze with such aloof disdain upon us poor evolution-driven organisms whom you see as barely clear of the muck? Something you neglected to mention? There was Penny Royal and that monster’s murderous Golem, there was the Brockle who delighted in excessive responses and torture, and there was Erebus, which some contend could have destroyed the Polity. These are just a few of those that captured the popular imagination. How many others are there that have kept themselves below the murder radar—whose depredations have remained just below some arbitrary Polity AI threshold so as not to warrant a drastic response? Well, I’ll tell you: there are hundreds of them out there. Our oh-so-civilized AIs like to excuse them as the result of faulty manufacturing processes during the war. But is that true? I rather think they are a product of the arrogance and contempt of AI for humanity. They are the AIs who are honest enough, by their actions, to demonstrate what all AIs truly think of us.

  —Anonymous

  ZACKANDER

  The creature bore some similarity to a lobster, but its armour, which was a deep blue fading to white at the joints and edges, had gone beyond a mere hard protective shell. The outer layer was a nano-chain compound of standard metals, diamond laminate and an exotic metal similar to that in prador armour—also micro-scaled and highly sophisticated. Shock-absorbing and heat-distributing laminations lay underneath it, all woven through with a sensory net and other nano-electronics that looked like the kind of hardware used in virtual warfare.

  The thing squatted on four thick lobster legs, but this was not its only way of moving. It had grown a distributed grav-engine inside itself, with ion-blast steering thrusters extruding from its tail and underside, as well as something like a distributed EM drive in there too. It sported mismatched forelimbs—one possessing a three-jaw claw and the other a long scythe-like spike. Its head protruded from its body on a short neck, loaded with sensors and two gleaming blue forward-facing eyes. Its weapons were blended with its body throughout; the mouth of a particle cannon opened at the base of that scythe-like spike. Other openings along its body connected to internal magazines in which, with sufficient food, it could grow different kinds of missiles.

  Studying the soldier externally and internally again, Zackander came to the conclusion he had drawn before. The thing was as lethal as a Polity war drone; in fact, more so than many. Though he had managed to scan, blueprint and acquaint himself with much of what it comprised, there was still about half he did not understand. The quantum computing inside it had evolved as it grew, and it had to be well up there with a planetary AI. But what was the need for all of this in a soldier? It contained nodes throughout that looked like U-space tech, but which Zackander had been unable to fathom. He had also noted that it had gradually reabsorbed certain items to supply these nodes with materials, as well as for other equally indecipherable elements scattered within it. He felt sure it was altering itself to fit its present circumstances—that it was trying to escape.

  He was also sure that he was looking at something that had not finished growing—this was a child, a tertiary form.

  It was also beautiful. Unlike the Cyberat, the distinction between organism and mechanical additions was lost. Growing armour and weapons was in this thing’s DNA. It had grown fusion, capacitor and laminar power supplies. The systems inside it meant it could alter its body at will—it did not need a workshop to manufacture further parts. It was complete, perfectly integrated and everything the Cyberat aimed to be. This was why, even knowing the danger of its escape, Zackander had been reluctant to destroy it. This was why he had been penetrating its computing and mind over many years, trying to find out exactly how it worked, to control it at last. And he was close.

  Recently he had managed to find and penetrate the command software inside it. He had told it to stop growing the U-space nodes and to stop collecting fissiles, whose purpose was to supply the energy it did not yet have for the ignition of its two fusion reactors. It was starting to obey him and now he was reasonably certain that he could order it to attack something—such as that legate. This was very risky, with so much inside it still unknown. But it was a risk he had to weigh against the threat the legate represented. Suspended by his sphere’s grav, Zackander gazed long and hard at the creature, then decided it was time to talk to it again.

  Having penetrated its computing, he had found it relatively easy to load a language file. This had been absorbed almost hungrily and, when he supplied the creature just a little extra power through hair-thin superconductors, it had immediately demanded clarification of many terms used. He began to send through a standard alien-contact package, along with more power so the soldier could absorb it. But later he had detected that it wasn’t using all the power for processing this but diverting some to its U-nodes and fusion. It was then that he stopped talking to it and finally searched out the command software. Now it would talk, without being quite so sneaky.

  “How are you today?” he asked.

  “Cold, of course,” replied the Jain soldier. “Had I more energy
available to me, I would probably be bored.”

  “We talked before about the technology your creators—or you, left scattered across many star systems.”

  “Yes,” it said, still neither confirming nor denying whether it was Jain itself or a product of the Jain. Zackander had tried to force the issue through the command circuit, but the soldier always required clarification of what a Jain was. Since Zackander himself had no idea, he could not provide it. He had tried many alternatives with no joy, and he felt sure there was something he was missing about that five-million-years-dead race.

  “A technology designed to destroy civilizations,” he said.

  “A device,” the soldier corrected, “to undermine and destroy an enemy. A poisoned chalice. A Pandora’s Box. A booby trap.”

  Something about the wording niggled at Zackander’s mind, but he couldn’t quite nail it down.

  “An AI was subverted by this technology and turned on the Polity, and was subsequently destroyed. However, two parts of what that AI created have come here.” Zackander sent a file on wormships, then another on legates, and the soldier absorbed them eagerly. He felt uncomfortable with this, aware that every time he talked to the thing, it learned a lot about the Polity and the present time, while Zackander was learning little about the soldier itself and its history.

  “Interesting,” was all it offered.

  “One of these ships is here, controlled by a legate, and is likely to be a danger to me,” Zackander said.

  “Because of your interest and research into Jain technology,” the soldier supplied.

  “Yes.” Zackander paused for a moment, a little worried by its degree of comprehension, then continued, “If I was to command you, would you be able to destroy Angel?” He didn’t consider the ship a threat in itself. As far as he understood it, without a pilot or without a connection to a central intelligence, such a ship had no real will of its own. And anyway, with the legate out of the way, the ship would be an interesting item to possess—very interesting indeed.

  “In my present condition. No.”

  “How long before you would be able to?”

  “That depends on available energy and materials.”

  Zackander now sent a detailed file on what he could supply the soldier with imminently. The soldier pondered this for all of two seconds before replying.

  “At that rate of supply, I can be ready for combat in three minutes.”

  Zackander had to make a big effort to not exclaim in surprise or immediately question the soldier’s calculations. Surely it would take longer than that to bring it up to a working temperature, let alone for it to power up and manufacture missiles and any other components it might need? But no, if the soldier said it could be combat-ready in that time then he did not doubt it. It had no real reason to lie, did it? Even if the thing was working some subterfuge against him, surely its first choice would be to overestimate how long it would take to be ready, so it would have the upper hand on him.

  “Then prepare yourself as best you can now,” Zackander said. “You may be going into action soon.”

  “Good,” the soldier replied. “Excellent.”

  THE CLIENT

  Weapons Platform Mu was heavily damaged but, even now, memory metal beams and plates were drawing energy from undamaged fusion reactors to straighten or unbuckle themselves. Meanwhile, hydraulics worked to reposition those parts of the structure that had no memory of their own. The whole thing was flexing and shifting as it tried to return to its original shape. The Client viewed all this activity with interest because it was so unexpected. But a brief excursion into the memories of the AI Pragus gave an explanation. The basic structure of the platform was that of a building block of a Dyson sphere. As such, it was a very tough item indeed, built to handle the huge stresses such a giant construction around a sun needed to withstand.

  Robots, whose sum purpose was to ensure the maintenance of the platform to a schematic in their memories, were restoring the systems: removing components that were beyond repair and sending them to recycling. There these items were taken apart, melted down or otherwise rendered into something usable, whereupon the materials were routed into the autofactories scattered throughout the platform. These then produced new components—some already going into place.

  The whole repair process, the Client calculated, would take many months at the present rate, but could be speeded up by a greater injection of power. Photo-voltaic plating over most of the platform’s exterior, with absorption of nearly 100 per cent when activated, could supply this energy. But the whole structure needed to be moved much closer to the nearby sun to achieve this, and the U-space drive of Platform Mu was ruined—turned inside out. This also applied to the drives of every single one of the attack pods in its weapons system, which the Client now turned her attention to.

  Ninety-five of the pods remained, but many of them were heavily damaged. They each had similar repair routines underway to those in the platform, but for twenty of them their own repair systems would not be enough. She recalled them, and watched as eighteen fired up conventional fusion drives and began their long return to the platform. The other two would return when their conventional drives were working again. She briefly considered calling in all the pods, to have them nearby, but that would serve little purpose. Better to have them widely scattered and ready to meet any threat. Seeing little else she could get underway for a while, the Client looked to her surroundings in near space.

  A world turned in vacuum, the fragmented ruins of a titanic space installation orbiting it. The world’s surface was mottled grey with black eyes of impact sites scattered all over—black veins spread from these and joined all into a network. She recognized the darker mottling in the grey as points where the oceans had boiled away. The impact sites were from prador kamikazes, or from the newer near-c railgun missiles those psychotic aliens had used. Still showing up as gleaming red and orange here and there were signs of the volcanism the attack had triggered. But it was cooling now after many centuries. It only took a second to establish then that the moon, which she had specifically come here to find, was missing. Dragon was right. She would never reacquire the knowledge she had once had . . .

  The Client remembered this world as it had once been: the moon an ever-attentive eye in its skies. Her home world had been gold and red and orange with brassy oceans. The temperature down there had been hot enough to boil water in a human world, but the higher gravity and air pressure had kept that from happening. Back then there had also been an artificial ring around the world—a band constructed from asteroids ferried in and rendered down for their materials. The whole had been hundreds of miles thick. Here was where the bulk of the Client’s civilization had lived. Most had moved from the surface to allow it to return to a pseudo-natural idyll. Though by this time in the history of the Species, “natural” was a term that could no longer be applied. There wasn’t a life form on the surface that had not been altered in some way. The Species had also often wondered if this was their home world at all, or rather one they had made their home in the distant past. But now all were dead.

  The prador had ignored the moon, since it appeared to be no threat, and had hit the ring structure first, bombarding it with railgun missiles and fusion weapons. Billions of the Species had died in that initial attack, but so well constructed was the ring that it maintained its integrity. Striking back with in-system carriers, whose drives had been turned into single burners and had been loaded with atomics, the Species had driven the prador away. But they had returned, again and again. Finally they’d used kamikazes to break the ring. And such was the intensity of the bombardment on the world that it shifted to a colder orbit. Nothing lived down there now . . .

  The Client reassessed her doom-laden internal narrative. She could now see that there were things alive on the surface. Insect forms moved slowly in herds over the rocks, grazing on grey algae. This must have been what was contributing to the world’s current hue. There were ruins eviden
t too, and, she noticed with a sudden surge of anger, something else.

  A series of domes sat at the bottom of a dried-up ocean that was now steadily refilling. Over the centuries, water had come up from the crust and filled some areas up to a mile deep. This water was now lapping at the walls of the domes. Focusing the platform’s telescope arrays on these, the Client began to see other signs of life. In the deeper water nearby, creatures shoaled around thick-stalked seaweeds, while on the land to one side of the domes was a morass where others flopped in the mud. It took her a moment to recognize them and, when she did, her anger grew. In the deep water swam reaverfish, while the other creatures were mudfish: both of which were prador food sources. She activated her available weapons.

  A more careful scan of near space revealed a scattering of prador satellites and she directed her attack pods to take them out. Particle beams lanced out and explosions ignited around the world. She suddenly felt a small surge of horror at the sight due to the memories it evoked, and was reluctant to fire on her home world. But through the array she saw three prador coming up into the shallows, towing the corpse of a reaverfish, and that was enough. The fuckers were transforming her home world into one of their own. This could not happen.

  One particle beam strike or railgun missile would have been enough, but she set a railgun to fire continuously, its target pattern input almost unconsciously. She then dispatched attack pods down to swing around the world and check the other side. The first missile hit, punching through the middle dome, its mass turning into a plasma explosion as it impacted the bedrock below. The whole prador base lifted on the blast, fragmenting. Fire and smoke rolled out, engulfing the three returning hunters and eradicating them. Further missiles struck, one after the other. Three of them hollowed out the area where the mudfish flopped, while a further five went into the deep water and blew it skywards as superheated steam. The entire area fogged over then and, altering received spectrum, the Client now only saw it as a collection of glowing craters.