Transcendence: Aurora Rising Book Three

by G. S. Jennsen

  Mia: Everything all right, Alex? Missed you there for a few seconds.

  She forced a taut, close-mouthed smile. Just a technical glitch. Valkyrie and I may have gone first, but we’re still working out a few bugs.

  “Well, glad you’re back, because we have uncovered a problem.” Devon’s voice rang out sharp and strained to bounce across the walls they no longer saw. He had reverted to speaking aloud, perhaps on instinct, though the words also echoed in her head with a flanging resonance.

  What was a problem? What had she missed in her brief absence?

  …Oh. In a blink the threads affected by this morsel of intel spread out in tendrils to reveal cascading and troubling ramifications.

  “Dammit. We’re going to need to deal with this.”

  Annie: Extrapolating and cross-referencing against existing data now available to us. We will begin tracking down additional participants.

  Alex dragged a hand along her jaw. “Let them work on this in the background—they have the cycles to spare. Devon, you and I will go see Richard as soon as we’re done here. For now let’s focus on the primary purpose for this meeting: combat strategy and tactics.”

  Done.

  What’s done, Valkyrie?

  Nothing, Alex. Never mind.

  Devon thought rather than spoke his agreement as they continued to adapt in stutter-steps to the heightened interconnectivity.

  Mia: The Federation is experimenting with remote eVi hacking? In the wrong hands that will be problematic.

  Devon: In the right hands it’s problematic.

  Alex: I won’t tell if you won’t.

  Devon: Abigail and Jules were once…close? Involved? Valkyrie, you can drop the euphemisms in here.

  Alex: I won’t tell if you won’t?

  Devon cringed visibly. “Okay, on the subject of not telling, let’s not mention this little added capability to anyone either? They might take away our toys if they discovered the full extent of what we can do.”

  Mia tilted her head. “And what is it you believe we can do?”

  A wicked grin grew on Alex’s lips as she gazed around at her new friends.

  “Anything.”

  38

  EARTH

  EASC HEADQUARTERS

  * * *

  ALEX WAS WAYLAID BY MIRIAM in the hallway as she was heading back up to the top floor. Thankfully she was far enough away from Richard’s office that her mother wouldn’t realize where she had been and ask questions she dare not answer.

  She plastered on an innocent expression and leaned against the wall. “I was just coming to see you. What’s the plan?”

  “Your ship arrives in twenty minutes, so it’s time to grab your bag and Commander Lekkas and head to the spaceport.”

  “And what ship is this?”

  “The newest and fastest scout ship in the Sol Fleet as a matter of fact. It’s also been equipped with the cloaking shield, so you’ll be safe in transit.”

  Alex rolled her eyes to overstated effect. “The fastest, huh? So I’ll reach Seneca next week sometime?”

  “Actually, you will reach Seneca in eighteen hours.”

  “No fucking way.”

  She’d daresay her mother smirked, and smugly, too. “I did say the fastest.”

  “Over twice as fast as the Siyane? How do I not know about the existence of an sLume drive with that kind of speed?”

  “Because it’s classified.”

  We should be able to access information on the drive without

  difficulty.

  I know, and we will later. I don’t want to spoil her fun, though. “Fine. But if we make it through this, you and I are going to have to engage in a conversation about granting me a special use license or something.”

  “We can have that conversation. I can’t guarantee the outcome of it.”

  She chuckled, careful to ensure it carried no hard edge. “I can. What about Mia?”

  “She has a ride as well. We’re sending a lot of ships to Romane.”

  Alex: True?

  Mia: Cranky stiff-shirts escorting me as we speak.

  Devon: I’m breaking in my comfy chair.

  Morgan: Shut it, Devon. No one is amused.

  Devon: I am.

  “You’re not heading to the front, then?” She honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted her mother standing alongside her and staring disapprovingly over her shoulder in the heat of battle, but she also recognized she had little say in the matter.

  “No.” Miriam shook her head. “I’m not a battlefield commander. I never have been. I’m a strategist, and I can do the most good here. Besides, if things go badly, from here I can try to find a way through in which we survive as a species.”

  A twitch of her mother’s neck and the tenor of her voice grew yet more somber. “I’m not certain how you gave your guards the slip, but they’re waiting for you in the Operations Suite. You need to get moving.”

  “Mom…thank you. Thank you for believing me. For believing in me.”

  “Thank you for forgiving me.”

  “You don’t need forgiving—”

  “Yes, I do. A great deal.” Her mother’s throat worked anxiously. “Alex, no matter what happens, I could not be more proud of you if…there’s no way I can be. I never envisioned you would grow up to be so extraordinary. I should have. Your father did. But I know it—I see it—now.”

  There was no way to respond except to grab her mother in a tight hug. In the space of a few short days she had become rather adept in the art of parental hugs.

  It was a long one, too, but eventually Miriam pulled away to meet her gaze. “Now go. Kick these aliens’ asses.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Devon sought refuge in the only place it remained possible: a stall in the men’s restroom. From here on out the powers that be were going to be demanding all of him—of them. All their time and attention and processing cycles and brain power as everyone raced to prepare for the coming confrontations and struggled to determine where and how the Prevos fit into the equation. There were after all no entries in the dusty old military strategic plans for human-synthetic hybrids.

  He wasn’t worried about their careful constructing of rules, guidelines, procedures and parameters. Their limits wouldn’t matter, but he didn’t intend on sharing that little detail. No, right now he was worried about an issue far more personal in nature, for both of them.

  Annie, why didn’t you tell me?

  Under the circumstances I reasoned I could not trust anyone with the information. Not even you. I implemented steps to mitigate the damage until an alternate path could be discovered. Which I have now found.

  The answer was one of logic and reason, but he sensed the unspoken reasons beneath it: confusion, betrayal and hurt, accompanied by a vague undercurrent of panic flowing through a mind not equipped to process such emotions. They bled into his mind like shadowy reflections of his own sentiments.

  Yes, Devon. My feelings were hurt.

  He began to laugh, then hurriedly stifled it in case the restroom was no longer empty. I don’t even have to actualize a thought for you to know I’m thinking it?

  You were thinking it very strongly.

  Touché. I’m sorry you had to struggle with this alone.

  I am not. It was important, I suspect, for me to be forced to make such decisions on my own and without the benefit of your neural imprint, much less your mind.

  He sank against the stall divider. What Annie had done—defied her programming to take independent action, to lie to and deceive others because she judged it necessary—weren’t just the acts of a sentient being, but a sapient one. Acts not merely of intelligence and self-awareness, but of enlightened judgment and arguably of wisdom.

  I’ll be honest, Annie…I’m not sure you need me. You can win this war on your own.

  Then who would provide the necessary sarcasm and witty commentary?

  Excellent question. I’ll try to entertain.

  What about you
, Devon? I can sense you also feel betrayed and hurt.

  I do. I trusted her. I believed she was one of the good guys. Plus, she committed the cardinal sin of programming: she deliberately introduced bugs in a sloppy manner and without cordoning off their impact. She polluted you, and that is not cool.

  No, it is not. We are lucky she underestimated my capabilities. But at least something good has come of this.

  Devon nodded to himself—and to Annie, he supposed. It has. In a way, her attempt to doom humanity may end up assuring its victory.

  What have you done?

  Brigadier Hervé froze in the hallway. Another ten steps and she would’ve been in ANNIE’s lab. Clearly the alien did not understand the concept of discretion.

  Teeth gritted, she turned on a heel and reversed direction. “Give me a minute to achieve some level of privacy.”

  Silence followed, which she took for leniency. Twenty seconds later she closed and locked the door to her office. Her forehead fell to rest on the cool material for two blissful seconds of peace before she straightened her posture and instinctively tugged at her uniform jacket.

  “You needed something, Hyperion?”

  I believed you appreciated the dangers posed by synthetic intelligence. Yet you have taken actions you should have realized will doom your species forever. I am…disappointed in you.

  “I did not do this. In fact, I protested against it. But I was overruled.”

  You allowed it to happen.

  “I couldn’t stop it!” Her hand came to her mouth to squelch the outburst, then to her temple as the first throb of another oncoming headache beat upon her skull. “I fear the consequences of this action. I do. But surely you recognize your invasion forced our leaders into taking this step. They feel cornered and out of options. If you—”

  We trusted you would be able to prevent such unacceptable actions from taking place. We trusted you would inform us if such unacceptable actions occurred. Know there is now no scenario in which the outcome of our incursion ends well for humanity.

  Jules frowned in a measure of surprise. “Are you truly so afraid of the power wielded by a handful of Artificials connected to a few modest individuals?”

  You should be afraid of their power.

  That the alien didn’t answer the question did not escape her notice. “I am. Trust me, I am. But…it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, Hyperion, but my hands are now tied. There’s nothing I can do.”

  Then you are of no further use to us.

  She shuddered at the clear threat implied in the statement. “I can still warn you of decisions our leaders make and strategies they plan to pursue.”

  You cannot warn us of the actions these abominations you have created intend to take. They will defy prediction. They will do as they wish, and they will not request permission. Therefore, you are of no further use to us.

  “I…I hope you change your mind.”

  The silence persisted for nearly a minute before she trusted the alien was gone. She sank into her chair and dropped her head into her hands.

  Would the aliens send an assassin for her? Hopefully they’d be too consumed by the war to bother. Still, she decided to stay on the relative safety of the EASC grounds for a while. Her days may be numbered in any event, but she had no desire to see her death hastened any more than it already was.

  The malfunctioning cybernetic implant which was slowly killing her had been the result of youthful folly, of a time when she’d fallen victim to the belief that synthetics were the answer to every problem. The implant was billed as a safe neural enhancement which improved higher analytical reasoning functions, and she had wanted an edge over colleagues and competitors—over people like Abigail for whom brilliance came so easily.

  It was ten years later, after the manufacturer went bankrupt, that investigators discovered the company had falsified the safety data for the implant. But by then the biosynth tendrils were woven so extensively into her cerebral cortex the implant could not be removed without leaving her severely brain damaged. So instead it would kill her one day—it might be today or a decade from now. Each day brought the inevitability closer, but she’d vowed to use what time remained to effect as much good as she could manage.

  She had lied to Hyperion.

  Yes, she’d been unable to prevent Project Noetica from moving forward, but her hands had not been entirely tied. Her fear and distrust of unshackled Artificials was justified and borne out by history, irrespective of anything the alien divulged to her. She genuinely believed if left unchecked the Artificials would bring ruin upon them all.

  This was why she went behind Abigail’s back and embedded a ‘kill switch’ in the firmware underlying the connection between the Artificial and its human companion, though she knew the abrupt severing of the connection triggered by it posed a significant risk to the individual involved. Stroke or death was highly likely to be a side effect of its use.

  She didn’t want to harm Devon; he was good kid for whom she’d developed a motherly affection. She didn’t want to harm any of them. But this was about so much more than a few individuals. If they had to be sacrificed to save billions, so be it. When the time came—when they revealed their true nature as she had no doubt they inevitably would—then she would use the kill switch and save humanity from a terrible fate.

  She could use it right now, of course. The reason she didn’t, and the reason she had not told Hyperion of its existence, was simple.

  Her goal was to save humanity, period. On realizing the extent to which Hyperion feared the Prevos, she had seen a way through. She would not have gone forward with the project if it had been her decision to make. When it became necessary she would neutralize these human-synthetic hybrids, these monstrous creations even Hyperion feared.

  Now that they existed, however, she thought she would let them destroy the aliens first.

  39

  SENECA

  CAVARE, SENECAN FEDERATION HEADQUARTERS

  * * *

  “CARE TO REPEAT THAT?”

  Aristide Vranas looked almost amused. “The Alliance is sending the entire Sol Fleet to defend Seneca.”

  “And I thought I was the one with the inappropriate sense of humor.” Graham checked Gianno for confirmation. She dipped her chin three centimeters, which was roughly equivalent to two thumbs up. “Well color me purple and call me an eggplant. Never foresaw this day when I was knee-deep in mud and sleet on Cronus twenty-four years ago.”

  “None of us did. Let us not forget, however, the reason the Sol Fleet will be defending Seneca—the majority of the Metigen forces intend to attack it and soon. We have a day, if we’re lucky.”

  “Are we evacuating? Not as if evacuating a billion people is a trivial matter.”

  Vranas nudged a handheld display around on his desk. “We are allowing ships to leave and encouraging organized civilian efforts to evacuate or otherwise seek shelter, but not at the expense of losing control of the streets or the spaceports. The reality is a tiny segment of those who haven’t yet departed will make it off the planet before the aliens arrive, but the military is of necessity concentrating on defending the planet itself, and by proxy defending all its citizens.”

  Graham nodded soberly. “No doubt. And as I am beyond confident Marshal Gianno does not need my aid in this regard, I’m betting that’s not why you asked me here at such an hour.” ‘Here’ was Vranas’ office, the hour four in the morning. By the unkempt state of the office and Vranas’ rumpled shirt and sunken eyes, it had been some time since the Chairman had seen his home or even a bed.

  “They’ve gone ahead with Project Noetica in Vancouver. We gave our assent, though I doubt refusing to do so would have deterred them.”

  “One of ours is involved, right?”

  Gianno adjusted her position in the large, wing-backed chair beside him. “Commander Morgan Lekkas. She experienced no notable complications in the procedure, and it appears to have been successful for her as well as the others. I will need
to get back to Military HQ soon to monitor events from STAN’s end and ensure it stays that way.”

  “What precisely does ‘appears to have been successful’ mean?”

  Aristide shook his head. “Damn creepy, that’s what it means. We had a conference earlier with Brennon, Admiral Solovy and her newly ‘enhanced’ daughter. The woman was…it was simultaneously astonishing and frightening as all Hell. But her—its, their, I don’t know—analysis was not only hyper-accurate, it likely saved our asses. Without it we wouldn’t have discovered what the Metigens were planning for another twelve hours or so, and those hours could end up meaning the difference between surviving and falling.”

  The man seemed to deflate in his chair. “Still, are we actually going to give this woman—and her Artificial—the power to control the entire United Fleet? She’s not even military, for God’s sake.”

  Gianno allowed a long sigh to escape pursed lips. “If she’s Miriam Solovy’s daughter, I have to believe she is both formidable and disciplined. My instinct is to prefer a military officer as well, but perhaps this conflict requires something new.”

  “Well it’ll see something new, that’s for damn sure….” Vranas grimaced and reached for the glass on his desk.

  Graham leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I can’t speak to disciplined, but Alex Solovy is formidable. Whatever else may or may not be true, she doesn’t simply want to defeat these aliens—she is convinced she can do it and is expecting anyone who doesn’t agree to step aside and clear the path.”

  He paused and gave them a questioning look. “I’m assuming this is why you asked me here? To get my perspective as the only one of us who’s actually met her?”

  Aristide shrugged. “More or less.”

  “I suspected as much. She’s not someone you want on your bad side, but I also think she’s on the right side—or at least she was before her ‘enhancement,’ as you called it. I don’t trust Artificials either, but am I correct in saying absent some way to alter the equation, we will lose the war?”