Yngve, AR - The Argus Project

by The Argus Project (lit)

  ***

  Once he had exited the hangar of the E.S.S. William Jefferson , Argus accelerated his ship as fast as safety allowed, then killed the main booster-rocket and prepared for a close fly-by of the target asteroid.

  It was not so different from his earliest simulation training, only this time the target would almost certainly fire back - and use counter-measures similar to those of his own ship.

  If a solid object came through his electromagnetic shield and the Leydenfrost shield, it could punch right through the armor - and quite likely blow up the anti-matter drive within, turning the ship into a miniature sun.

  His minutes in weightless, free-fall flight passed... he stayed on edge, looking for the smallest approaching wink of light in any part of the spectrum. Bizarrely enough, the most Argus saw was the distant but uninterrupted stream of freight traffic going to and from Jupiter's gas mines.

  The flagship arced off into a smaller orbit, putting another moon between itself and Argus. Soon, he couldn't communicate with the Jefferson anymore... left alone against the enemy, again.

  The ship's display panels began to show an array of warnings: his presence had been located ever since he left the flagship, and could be seen even in an optic telescope from any of the neighboring satellites. It was like running with a bullseye painted on one's back.

  "Here we go again, Nav. You know the drill." There was not a sound in the airless cockpit, all communication was down to visual. Argus read the screens or received laser-signals into his eyes, while Nav had learned to lip-read his face - all to save time and make their responses even faster than humanly possible.

  "Yes, Argus. Plan 'Bumblebee' in progress."

  Navbutler proved much more helpful this time, as they had worked out in advance how to share tasks. "Nav" took care of the purely defensive systems, while Argus did the steering and attacking.

  Under his rapid control, the incoming ship zigzagged and danced about in a complex pattern. He knew he was being fired at from Elara, with invisible laser and particle beams. The enemy fire became visible to him only indirectly, as it brushed past the outer edges of the ship's shields, and set off quiet stroboscopic fireworks of energy.

  Argus kept ducking the fire blindly, waited for more solid things to try and sneak up on his ship; and yet, no missiles or remote-pods were launched at him.

  The target asteroid crawled closer... he could now discern the many guns and shining parabolic laser-shields across its irregular, gray-brown surface. A glittering cloud of what must be aluminum bubbles rapidly spread out in his way, several kilometers ahead.

  SHIELD CANNOT GIVE 100% PROTECTION, Navbutler's display text warned urgently. 3 SECONDS TO IMPACT.

  Argus rotated the ship very rapidly, so that it fell with its belly first, and fired off the main booster. He throttled it slightly, rotated the ship again, and set off another boost at a different angle. He braked, adjusted, braked...

  It took the flagship command a few moments to understand what was going on. The spy satellites relayed Argus's movements to the Kansler. Just as I had hoped , he thought.

  By ignoring the "common wisdom" of spaceflight and being deliberately wasteful with his powerful antimatter fuel, Argus had learned to navigate in orbital space as if his ship flew through atmosphere. He "banked" off his expected orbit with repeated adjustments against the natural fall-orbit. In doing so, Argus created a rapid circling movement around the asteroid, while slowing down enough to eventually turn into the opposite direction.

  ***

  "I've never seen that done against a free-fall orbit before," Admiral York said. "There's no atmosphere around Elara! Nothing to push against to make that circling movement around an asteroid. Is he flying through some sort of gas cloud?"

  "It only seems impossible," the Kansler replied over the command center's channel. "He's doing it without computer guidance - Argus is fast enough to be a flight computer. Boulder Pi ought to be proud."

  The Kansler grew silent and bit his lips together, as Argus completed his half-circle, and was about to reverse his course. The Kansler was ready to take Direct Control.

  His eye-display indicated the time-delay in the control-signals, so that he could send the launch-order at the very right moment. Not for a moment did he trust Argus to press the launch button - but that suited his purposes perfectly.

  The eye-display flashed GO; he squeezed his fists and triggered the delayed command.

  ***

  A second later, the DIRECT CONTROL prompt appeared on Argus's tactical display. And again someone else took control of his movements. His left hand moved toward the launch button and pressed it - at the wrong moment.

  The DF charge was ejected at a bad angle, flew out too slowly due to Argus's complex braking maneuvers, and drifted off toward the asteroid one kilometer "below" the ship.

  Argus smiled inwardly; even if the Fleet could order him to push the button, they could never time it as well as he could. He wouldn't kill more people this time, not before they had had a fair chance of evacuating Elara. The DIRECT CONTROL vanished after a second.

  His eyes followed the misfired bomb as it was pulled toward the asteroid's rocky surface. It plunged into a hilltop - and detonated, pulverizing a 200-meter wide peak. The entire planetoid lurched a fraction of a degree from the impetus - but the habitats inside remained safe.

  Argus put his ship on a rapid accelerating course back toward the flagship, right past the asteroid, and felt the G-forces push him into his pilot-seat. An ordinary man would have had all air squeezed out of his lungs from the force, but Argus had no lungs and the cabin was de-pressurized.

  He ignored all common spaceflight-sense by not putting his ship on a parallel course with the flagship's orbit, and then make a rendezvous as their directions and velocities matched. A crewmember on the flagship later joked, that Argus navigated as if driving a sports car.

  But as he boosted the ship, the cyborg pilot sensed that the ship was heavier than he expected after the drop - a whole ton too heavy...

  The DIRECT CONTROL prompt reappeared. Argus thought: What's going on? The tactical display now indicated a second DF charge, and the remote-control forced his hand on the launch button again.

  Argus was completely taken by surprise; the bomb "package" in the bomb bay, that he thought was identical to the one used over Io, was in fact two smaller bombs, inside the launch-cartridge of a single charge.

  The Kansler had outsmarted him again!

  With the ship on a steady accelerating forward course, the second launch was almost ideally timed. The light DF charge plunged into the asteroid just as his ship flew past at supersonic speed, and drilled itself a mile inside - then it went off.

  Navbutler activated the electromagnetic shield to protect the ship's rear. In the space of a few seconds, the accelerating ship put several kilometers between itself and the disintegrating asteroid; in that time, Elara inflated into a glowing sphere of molten rock and hot gases.

  For a moment, the fireball resembled a hot bright gas-planet, complete with swirling clouds - and it was gone, the light dying down to an expanding sphere of darkening gas.

  Jupiter's Red Spot seemed to watch the event, following his flight...

  Four seconds later the Direct Control ceased, and Argus roared with open mouth and bared teeth, his face contorted to a grimace. In the airless cockpit, the sound of his roaring voice was but a thought in his mind.

  It occurred to him, that his sense of identity was getting blurred. Everyone calling him "Colonel Clarke" to his face, expecting him to be in a certain way. No one from his former life was around anymore. As if...

  His memory of being the not-too-bright boxer "Gus" Thorsen might be the false one, implanted in his mind while he was rebuilt into a cyborg. What if, Argus thought, he really was Haruman Clarke - the stern, cold career officer, but pretended to be "that nice guy Gus" to protect his conscience?

  But immediately Gus Thorsen began to fight within, demanding not to be e
rased out of existence; in the boxing-ring of the mind, Gus danced about, punched at his thoughts, struggled for attention - and won. The fighter wasn't beaten yet.

  It was the whole Fleet system that was his enemy, trying to mold him into their "thing", their obedient killing machine...

  And a new question stood clear to Argus - he felt foolish for not having thought of it before: What if the accident that killed the real Colonel Clarke was also the Kansler's and the Fleet's doing?

  No... why intentionally kill an already renowned career officer on his way to become promoted to super-soldier, and replace him with a total, poor nobody like Gus? That didn't make sense, like dragging a person from the street to replace the champ, just because their faces resembled each other.

  Argus told himself he was going crazy for even thinking such a thing. Things had to make sense, the Kansler too. Then again, this war made less sense all the time.

  "Nav?"

  "Yes?"

  "Found the files I asked for?"

  "Wait... your authorization level is still not high enough. I'm sorry, Argus."

  "Why am I not allowed access to the files on myself , damn it?"

  "Fleetcom authority says all personal files on Haruman Clarke were given top-secret priority from the day he was selected for the Argus Project. All his files were universally closed or destroyed through use of Fleetcom virus programs, by the Planetary Security Act of 2173."

  "You said ' he was selected,' Navbutler. Not 'you' ."

  "Pardon?"

  "Do you know something about me that you haven't told me, Nav?"

  "I am partly what you make me, Argus. I learn to adapt."

  "Then tell me, Nav, buddy... who am I?"

  "You are Argus-A. You are who you are."

  "Should I like being what I am?"

  "Please explain previous statement."

  "Take us back, Nav. I need a rest."

  22: On The Home Front

  As seen from telescopes on the other moons of Jupiter, the bright spot of Elara usually seemed like a nearby star.

  When it exploded, this "star" shone many times brighter... and became an expanding bubble of orange-red gas, resembling a glowing ring from a distance.

  Thousands of colonists beheld the horrible spectacle. One of them was Caver Pi, in the underground node 2-3-3, the location of the planetary defense council below Ganymede's north pole.

  A member of the defense council looked to him, with weary eyes that seemed to all but plead out loud: We must surrender. There is no hope.

  But without a moment's hesitation, Caver Pi cried out to the council: "They do this! This , and Io! How can surrender now? Kansler kill us all anyway! Is not conquest, but annihilation! I say annihilate him! "

  Cries of support, angry and desperate, rose from the council members and those of their relatives who were present. But Caver Pi's wife stood nearby, with their infant in her lap, and she stared at her husband with reproachful eyes.

  Her lips moved, and formed the word "No!" Caver Pi put a stubby hand across his face; the sight of their child, against the ominous backdrop of a whole asteroid exploding on the screens around them, pushed his mind perilously close to breakdown. His brain felt about to explode too...

  Caver Pi left the council and gathered a dozen of his clan members for debate. They went into loud disagreement; most of the women argued for negotiations with the Terrans; the men were evenly split between stronger counter-attacks and surrender.

  There were no self-described heroes and patriots among them; they merely wanted to survive. The Ganymedean lifestyle offered little space for glory and posturing.

  After a time, Caver Pi said to them all: "I listen. To all. Our lives at stake, yes. Yes! But what choices? What peace? What slavery? Kansler can do anything to us. Inner Planets don't care. He must be our target! Or we not safe, ever!"

  "You hate Kansler personally," an elderly clan member said to him. "Cave. Your brother Boulder, the traitor. Blurs your judgment. Still I say we can get peace. Trade is key. Blockade, not war."

  "So starve," Caver said contemptuously. "Starve children for peace. I give them two months."

  His wife and child began to cry; one quietly, the other loudly. Impulsively, Caver put his arms around them both, and practically shoved them out of the council chamber with him.

  Strata and Caver Pi looked at each other, very close. Their mutual understanding sometimes resembled telepathy, a bond that transcended language. Their child stopped crying, and studied the father's serious face with wide, curious eyes. Caver kissed the infant's forehead.

  "Strata, I will share secret. Agents on Jupiter tell of Argus-A. A monster who bombs bases. He visits the gas-mines soon. If he dies, we can win war. Get peace, but on our terms. If Argus lives... no safe peace. I go?"

  "Yes. Go to Jupiter. If you die... what I tell child?"

  "That I love you more than my life. Both. Of you."

  They embraced each other, and he walked off into an adjacent tunnel. When Strata returned to the council chamber shortly thereafter, the other relatives could see that she had recently been crying.

  They asked where Caver Pi had gone without telling them... and she merely shook her head, and hugged her infant child tighter against her body.

  ***

  Cheers broke out among the Fleet crew, soared, then died down, when Argus came into the recreational section.

  To him, it was a slow-motion performance - much too slow to excite him. He looked up at the large screens, where three-dimensional films showed what resembled his personal ship, flying around Elara.

  "ARGUS SMASHES THE ENEMY OUTPOST ELARA!" declared the all-too-loud, near-hysterical host in the official news show, shouting as if the audience of the Inner Planets couldn't understand normal speaking volume. "The Fleet's heroic fighter-bomber pilot, Argus-A, today struck another decisive blow for Mother Earth in the Fleet's campaign against Jovian interplanetary terrorism. The Earth Council has awarded Argus-A the..."

  Almost without effort, Argus could spot where the combat footage had been doctored. The Marketing department of the Fleet had made the asteroid appear bigger, better armed, the crew more aggressive... all this a mere nine hours after the actual attack.

  And the intercepted communications between Jovians, sounding in the background among fabricated laser-"zaps" and explosions, were also fake: a simplistic caricature of Jovian speech, compared to what Argus snapped up from real radio traffic during flight.

  "Terrans revenge our sabotage on Luna! Stop Argus! Shoot Terran cyborg!"

  "Target too fast! He'll hit the reactor! Evacuate!"

  "Die Terrans!"

  "Too late! Aaaargh!"

  Argus tried to block out the broadcast sounds mentally, as they made him feel ill.

  Maybe it was the delayed stress and shock from the mission he had just completed - maybe it was just the pent-up rage at being betrayed and manipulated - but suddenly he doubled over and his midsection went into spasms. He stuck out his plastic tongue and tried to retch.

  "Aak - aaak -" The crewmembers looked at him and flinched, as if he was a bomb about to explode. And for a moment Argus thought he would - that the convulsions in what used to be his stomach could crush his inner workings and short-circuit him.

  But it was just a fantasy: Boulder Pi had designed the cyborg too well to allow him to "abdomenize" himself to death.

  The nausea receded; Argus didn't feel cold and sweaty like Gus Thorsen had used to do when throwing up after a tough match. Or maybe a little, in his imagination.

  He regarded the silent crew with smoldering, hateful eyes, opened his mouth to speak - then he seemed to change his mind, turned about and stormed out of the recreation section.

  ***

  Islington, watching the surveillance feed, expressed his growing concern.

  "This isn't good for morale, Kansler... neither here, nor to the home opinion. When the crew comes home, they'll talk. And Argus... how can we be certain of his..." He swallowed.<
br />
  "Stability? Stamina? Loyalty?" the Kansler filled in. "I have complete faith in his patriotism and devotion to Mother Earth. This little show is just... uh... post-combat stress."

  The deputy's face went blank, then perplexed, before he grasped what was going on.

  "Oh... I completely forgot, Kansler." He made a little laugh. "It was just such a long time ago since I saw this kind of thing..."

  "Right," the Kansler, laughing out loud, " the drugs don't work on cyborgs! Argus is our only soldier who can feel post-combat stress!"

  The deputy turned serious: "I'd better inform Boulder Pi before he arrives here, Kansler. He ought to be able to remedy these stress symptoms."

  "Leave Boulder to me," the Kansler snapped in a harder tone. "From now on only I speak to him. Now leave me, I need to think."

  And while Islington moved toward the exit, skillfully making himself invisible, the Kansler felt cold sweat emerge all over his skin.

  What if his perfect weapon broke down mentally, before his campaign was complete?

  He was so used to the Fleet drugging its personnel into complacency, he had virtually forgotten to keep check on the mental health of Argus-A. Some kind of appeasement had to be made.

  On his own, the Kansler changed his previous plans, and decided to actually approve the visit to Jupiter's gas miners that Argus had requested. He felt fairly confident that the miners would not risk one of their own thirty expensive mining stations to assassinate Argus... and if they did and succeeded, at this stage the Kansler's plan could yet proceed with only minor difficulty, in fact just as well.

  Argus had done well in the war, well enough to become disposable to the Kansler - and to become a martyr hero, just what his plans needed.

  He went to bed.

  But allowing the visit invited danger, one added worry to keep him sleepless through the ship's ensuing night-period... alone with the personal terrors that his grand scheme only seemed to make worse.

  For he could never confess to anyone in the world, not even his deputy, why he was working so hard to win the war, why he feared its failure so much... and why, when he tried to sleep without the drugs, that fear kept him awake.