by Isaac Hooke
He pulled up his programming environment once more and got to work.
He executed more of the memory regions, looking for subroutines, and whenever he found one, he added the dataset to his collection on the virtual desktop. Eventually he finished mapping all of them, or those that were loaded into active memory in the sandbox environment, anyway: he still didn’t have any idea what those subroutines actually did in the real world, however.
By the time he was done, the debug process had slowed to almost a crawl. He thought of what Dee had mentioned earlier about all the other processes he was running; that would explain the slowdown. An alien AI, a VR subsystem to entertain it, a—
Wait a second. VR subsystem?
That gave him an idea.
He stopped the debugger and freed all the memory used by the different datasets.
He switched to the VR environment he had reserved for entertaining the Essential, and operated in observer mode, which meant he didn’t have a body, and would be completely invisible to the AI.
He resided in the ruined city of New York. Micro machines devoured the buildings around him. A Devastator below led a platoon of bioweapons into a company of tanks. That Devastator was a representation of Eric’s own mech, and literally smashed through the tank company, the alien blades embedded in the forearm slicing through everything in their path, while the lobster-gators destroyed anything the mech missed. Termites swarmed over the human units, further disabling the tanks ahead of the Devastator and bioweapons.
Eric activated his programming interface and overlaid it across the scene before him—it would be visible only to him. He moved the subroutine list out of the sandbox and into his main instance, then he accessed the guilt subroutine and passed in the parameters to the first routine.
The Essential froze. It looked up and addressed the sky using its external speakers. It spoke with Eric’s voice.
“So you finally deign to visit me,” the Essential said. “Free me from this environment, and I will help you.”
Eric had to laugh at that. The Essential wouldn’t have heard it of course, not in the current observation mode.
Eric tried different parameters, but all of them had no effect. The Essential just stood there, waiting while the bioweapons and termites finished off the virtual company of tanks.
Eric tried another subroutine, seeding it with random parameters. This time the Essential’s arm shot outward. Eric adjusted the parameters, and the arm moved in a different direction. He kept experimenting, and eventually documented the parameters necessary to completely control that arm. He marked that subroutine “arm motor control.”
He continued experimenting with the different subroutines, and he mapped out much of what they did, at least in terms of controlling the mech. There were still a lot of unknowns—subroutines that had no obvious effect, no matter the parameters passed in. Most likely they were related to the Essential’s current restricted form, and would probably produce an affect only when the Essential instance existed inside other forms, such as an airship, Sloth, scout, the mothership... essentially something he couldn’t emulate.
There was one particularly interesting routine that caused the Essential to spout a series of screeches and clicks that varied depending upon what parameters he passed in. He thought he must be accessing some sort of audio memory bank; if he actually understood Banthar, that might have been a way for him to peruse the Essential’s memories.
Satisfied that he had learned as much as he could for now, he logged out of the VR interface, and left it running in the background.
He was in the intermedial environment, surrounded by darkness; he switched his consciousness to the real world, but kept his time sense amped up.
“Frogger, any news on the scout?” Eric sent.
“No,” Frogger replied. “I can give you a list of all the known backdoors I’ve tried, if you want.”
“Sure,” Eric said. “So at least I don’t have to waste time with them.”
Eric received the data, scanned it for viruses, and then stored it on his virtual desktop, which he had overlaid on his HUD alongside the programming windows.
“Has to be a zero day hole somewhere in the code Manticore put in,” Frogger said. “Considering it’s custom written.”
“We’ll find it,” Eric said.
He pulled up the human-style remote interface Manticore had placed in the alien scout, and got to work. Unfortunately, though he tried variants of all the techniques he knew, he couldn’t break through and escalate his privileges. He was denied any access to the scout’s feature-set. Hell, he wasn’t even able to determine precisely what that feature-set was.
“Manticore is making an announcement,” Dee told him.
Eric dialed down his time sense to normal.
“I’m firing the mothership’s arsenal of black hole weapons,” Manticore said. He paused for several moments. “The defense platforms have been engulfed... they’re gone. As are the rift creation rings: the homeworld can no longer communicate with the rest of the galaxy. I’ve sent more black holes to the surface, targeting the surface-to-space platforms.” He paused again. “All defenses are disabled. And the power grids are offline in the target cities. I’m launching dispersion bolts to eliminate the black holes.” He waited a few moments before finishing: “Black holes are gone. We’re clear to launch the airships.”
“All right then, Bolt Eaters, let’s get down to the hangar bay!” Marlborough ordered. He glanced at Manticore. “Are you good to come down with us? Or do you have to babysit the ship?”
“I’ve uploaded all the necessary instructions to keep the ship under my control,” Manticore said. “I will have to leave one of the scouts behind, though.”
“Do we have to worry about the main Essential hacking in at some point from the surface?” Dickson asked.
“I’ve disabled the Banthar remote interface,” Manticore replied. “So there’s no way for the main AI to interface, unless it manages to secure a boarding party in the control room while we’re gone.”
“All right, let’s go then,” Marlborough said.
Manticore joined them, bringing only one of the alien spheres with him; as it revolved around Manticore’s mech, Eric continued his attempts to access the remote interface. As did Frogger, no doubt. By now Manticore probably knew that the interface was under attack, and was likely taking steps to firm up the security measures. However Manticore probably wouldn’t admit as much, out of fear the attacks would become more clandestine.
As the platoon left the compartment, several of the Sloths that were waiting outside moved into the room to guard the scout. And probably not just from rogue aliens.
“When we get back here,” Eagleeye said on the private line that excluded Manticore. “You know we’ll probably have to destroy those Sloths, right?”
“Not just those Sloths, but every other defensive unit aboard,” Slate said. “We’ll basically have to fight our way to the control center again. Minus the damaged defense platforms. And the effin’ Curator.”
“Oh, without the Curator, it’ll be a breeze, believe me,” Bambi said.
“That’s right, just keep bragging about how hard it was to defeat the Curator,” Slate said.
“I will,” Bambi retorted.
A couple of Sloths joined them to act as escorts at the point and drag positions. Marlborough allowed it, for the time being.
The platoon used LIDAR to navigate the corridors, and the occasional alien units they approached let them pass unmolested.
In the hangar bay, Eric loaded into the waiting airship along with the rest of the platoon, and then lingered at the bottom of the craft as the doors closed. The escorting Sloths remained with the team.
Manticore’s alien scout approached a small alcove on one side of the compartment, where a small slot was chiseled into the bulkhead. The scout inserted its telescoping limb into the aperture.
“We’re not going to the control room?” Mickey asked.
“Oh,” Mickey said. “Well that’s good, then. I think.”
Manticore shared the external camera feed with Frogger, who redistributed it to the rest of the platoon. Eric put the feed into his usual scan-ahead buffer to check for viruses, and piped the output to a window in the lower right of his vision.
Via the video, he was able to watch as big doors opened at the bottom of the mothership, and all the remaining airships dropped free, including the one that contained the camera. Eric felt no motion whatsoever, no doubt thanks to the inertialess drives.
The vessel broke away from the mothership and accelerated toward the gray and blue sphere of the Banthar homeworld. Above them, space termites flowed from exit ports, slowly enveloping the mothership in a protective layer.
The other craft around them departed for the different major cities Manticore intended to conquer; only three remained behind to escort the airship containing the Bolt Eaters, which was presumably headed for the Banthar capital city.
Time to conquer a species...
20
Eric watched as the airship approached the capital city. Metal cylinders thrust towering into the air, forming the particular brand of buildings that marked Banthar architecture. Packed in along the outskirts were the lush, fenced-off estates of hydroponic farms.
Large craters among those estates and cylinders indicated where the black holes had eliminated surface-to-space defenses.
The airship and its three escorts proceeded over the city proper. Below, the cylindrical towers were arranged in hexagonal groups that composed city blocks. Six silos resided at the points of each hexagon, with a seventh in the middle. Streets zig-zagged between those blocks, with each intersection composed of three streets each. Looking down from above, the crowded hexagonal city blocks reminded him of the cells of a beehive.
Although Manticore had taken out the major defense platforms, smaller defenses still activated city-wide, and bolts shot into the air. The energy shields flashed into existence around the airships, protecting them. Sloths and other units deployed upon the streets and rooftops below also occasionally fired barrages at the passing craft. The airships returned fire with plasma and energy bolts.
For some reason, there were still Banthar out on the streets, balconies, and rooftops. They rested on their floating disks a meter above wherever they resided, their slimy antennae pointed at the sky, the twin spiraling shells on their backs glinting in the sunlight.
“I guess the snails didn’t get the memo that their planet was under attack,” Mickey commented.
“Maybe the Essential didn’t tell them…” Frogger said.
“Poor blokes must have realized something is wrong by now,” Dunnigan said. “Considering that black holes cut off all their communications with the rest of the galaxy, and disabled their bigger defenses. Plus, they have to find it odd that our airships are under attack, and returning fire in kind.”
“Maybe they think it’s some sort of mistake,” Bambi said. “Or that it’s all a show. Kind of like fireworks, or a Roman triumph. Look at them, they’re almost celebratory.”
A festive environment indeed almost seemed to permeate the Banthar, though that could be anthropomorphism at work. Some even looked like they had their antennae wrapped around their neighbors, but it was hard to tell given how small most of them appeared, and it might have been a trick of the light, and the angle.
“That’s right, little snails are all happy,” Slate said. “Celebrating in the streets. They think we’ve returned home victorious from conquering another planet for their empire. Well, won’t the little bitches be in for a surprise when they learn that all is not well in Happy Land! Escargot is never again going to taste as good as it will when we’re done burning this place down. Snails of all varieties will be available: seared, fried, fricasseed, and exploded… mm hm!”
The three airships spread out. Panels opened in their exteriors, and swarms of termites flooded from each of them. Hangar bays opened, and bioweapons and machines leaped down, plunging to the surface. The Bolt Eaters were unleashing the Armageddon meant for Earth on the Banthar. The other airships dispatched to the most populous cities across the planet would be doing the same when they arrived.
The Banthar on the streets fled on their disks, sometimes crashing into one another. Those on the balconies and rooftops quickly headed inside.
As the termites ripped into those still outside, the air filled with frantic clicking noises: the Banthar equivalent of screams.
Eric thought he would feel a sense of righteousness at this point. A sense of satisfaction, and payback justly served. But instead, he felt pity. And regret.
“Maybe we should call them off,” Eric said quietly.
“What’s that, Soldier?” Dickson asked.
“Maybe we should call them off,” Eric replied, more loudly. “These are civilians.”
“Never forget what the Banthar did to the civilians of Earth,” Dickson said.
“But we’re better than this,” Eric said. “Killing organics for no reason except for the sake of vengeance. Whatever happened to taking the high road?”
“There is no high road in war,” Dickson told him. “You know that by now. You’ve always known it.”
Eric deactivated the video feed. He couldn’t bear to watch.
No. I was partially responsible for this by helping to take the mothership. I’m going to damn well watch.
And so he did. He reactivated the feed and accepted his punishment. He forced himself to watch as fleeing Banthar were swarmed by micro machines or torn apart by bioweapons. Wasn’t pretty.
If he were still human, tears would have been trickling down his cheeks. But he wasn’t, so those tears remained unshed, falling only in the simulation he called a mind.
The silos became taller as the airship approached the city center, and Manticore had to increase the vessel’s altitude.
“Near the city center are a cluster of buildings,” Manticore said. “They house a server farm. It holds parts of the main Essential’s distributed consciousness. That’s where I’ll be able to interface. Things are probably going to get a little hectic…”
“What kind of security are we talking when we arrive?” Eric asked. “Something on the level of the Curator?”
“No,” Manticore answered. “There are multiple access ports available, one per building. There isn’t just a single point of entry, like the control room aboard a mothership: no choke points where something like a Curator would make sense. So I expect security to be moderate.”
“Are you sure the virus will work?” Marlborough asked.
Apparently Manticore had been working on a virus to knock out the Essential for quite some time. However, the only proof he had ever shown the Bolt Eaters was when he purportedly installed it into one of his own alien scouts, causing the unit to drop to the floor.
“It will,” Manticore said.
“Just because it works on the small scouts, doesn’t mean it will work on the main AI core,” Frogger said.
“You’re wrong,” Manticore said. “The architecture is the same. It will work.”
“If not, then we’re fucked, big time,” Slate said.
Manticore piloted the airship toward a cluster of tall buildings. There were more than the usual seven silos packed into that particular city block: Eric counted fifteen in total squeezed right up against one another. Across the street from that cluster of towers was a single building, this one so expansive that it filled up an entire city block in and of itself. A central spire thrust skyward from its base, with several smaller abutting spires reaching part ways up its surface, their height seeming random.
“See that building with all the random spires across the street?” Manticore said. “That’s the p
alace containing the Banthar king. His role is mostly ceremonial, though he does have the authority to execute who he pleases. Unless the Essential disapproves.”
A barrage of energy bolts launched from turrets hidden within both city blocks, assailing the airship. The external force field flashed constantly as it absorbed the blows.
“Seems a bit more than ‘moderate’ security to me!” Slate commented.
“The attack is a little stronger than expected,” Manticore admitted. “So far the shield is holding, but its energy levels are quickly dropping. I’m opening up the hangar bay in case we need to evacuate early.”
The hangar doors opened below, and Eric dismissed the video feed since he could watch the battle with his own cameras now. He flinched as some of those bolts seemed to head directly for the hangar bay, but always the energy field clicked in at the last instance, and the bolts flattened as they dispersed across the shield.
“Brontosaurus, Dunnigan, load up,” Marlborough ordered.
Brontosaurus and Dunnigan still had only their Cicadas, having lost their Devastators to the Curator; Brontosaurus leaped onto Eric’s mech to hitch a ride on his back, while Dunnigan did the same with Frogger.
“Thanks for letting me be your backpack,” Brontosaurus said.
“Of course,” Eric told him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Eric continued to gaze through the opening. Beyond the approaching cluster of buildings, Eric spotted other airships on the horizon, these ones shaped like inverted Vs.
“Are those ours?” he asked.
In answer, energy bolts launched from the new arrivals, and joined the existing barrage so that the shield flashed constantly.
“Guess not,” Eric said.
That the air support had taken so long to intercept them told Eric that the black holes had eliminated the closest hangars: these reserves had to be coming from somewhere well outside the city.
Manticore’s airship returned fire at both the ground and air targets, but as he flew over the cluster of buildings that contained the server farm, the barrage became so intense that the shield clicked off entirely. The energy bolts slammed into the exposed hull, and the deck shook underneath them. Though he hadn’t seen any of the actual impacts thus far, the attacks produced jagged pieces of metal that came into view as they passed underneath the opening during their plunge to the city below.