Cybership

by Vaughn Heppner

  Harsh crackling filled Jon’s helmet. After all this time, the AI was finally jamming them.

  As Jon forced his battlesuit to move even faster, he wondered if the AI had timed the moment. Could it have reasoned out their responses? Had the machine been studying them?

  I’m thinking too much. It’s Viking time.

  Jon had a brainchild as he led the squads. He rapped out orders on the run. These were Stark’s reserve squads. The first sergeant had always drilled his marines more than the other sergeants.

  As the marines raced to the assault, they switched out ammo. One squad took all the EGML grenades. Another squad loaded up on the APEX gyroc rounds. Yet another readied their remaining 100s. That left the final squad with tungsten-headed axes, crowbars and shock grenades. They would act as the reserve. Jon didn’t know what good axe-men would do in a high-tech battle, but he had what he had.

  Less than thirty seconds later, Jon came upon the corridor battle. The Old Man’s company fought from behind destroyed spider tanks.

  These new alien tanks were square-shaped with rounded edges. They had chest-sized turrets and thin cannons—pulse-firing weapons. The reason for the name spider-tank was each unit’s four articulated legs. Each metal “spider-leg” had three joints. The tanks maneuvered like giant spiders instead of like normal tracked vehicles.

  More spider tanks lurched toward the pinned down marines. A whiny sound occurred as each green-colored pulse left its cannon. One of the pulses struck a BCP-armored suit. A crackling line of power played over the marine’s battlesuit. Another pulse struck and then a third. A hole appeared in the armor. Blood gushed out as the marine toppled onto the deck.

  “100s, fire!” Jon said in a loud but calm voice.

  The 100mm shells whooshed. A line of spider tanks exploded. Some of the main bodies sank onto the decking. A few staggered as if drunk, with gaping holes in the tanks. Several continued to advance.

  “Where are our tanks?” the Old Man radioed. “We need heavier firepower.”

  Jon was too busy ordering his squads. No time to answer. He fought his way to the back of the Old Man’s formation. More spider tanks were coming down the corridor.

  “Look at the walls!” a marine shouted. “What are those?”

  Jon focused on the left wall. He blanched. It was a mini-spider tank. The machine was one-eighth the size of the mother tanks. The mother tanks, or carriers, disgorged more of the crawling machines. They scurried, even more like spiders, crawling along the bulkheads as the bigger spider tanks charged the space marines on the floor.

  “Gyrocs focus on the right wall,” Jon ordered. “EGMLs fire on the left wall. Take down those creepers. Axe-men, you can whack any of them that get among us.”

  The horde of spider vehicles converged on the marines. It was an enemy wave assault, and it might have embroiled the pinned-down humans in hand-to-hand combat.

  Before that occurred, the first tri-barreled alien tanks arrived. “Behind you, sir,” a marine radioed. “The armored cavalry has arrived.”

  “Thank God,” Jon said. “Stay low,” he ordered his squads. “Don’t get in the tanks’ line of fire.”

  Green pulses flashed overhead. Smaller stich-guns from the creepers fired metal slivers. Those stuck into BCP armor. Too many, though, caused the next round of stitches to break through into the soft-skinned humans inside the shells. At the same time, tightly placed tri-beams burned into spider-tank armor. The alien tanks focused on the main spider tanks. That allowed all of the marines to concentrate on the creepers. As the battle raged hotter, more alien tanks trundled up, adding firepower.

  Jon glanced at Bast. The green-skinned alien hugged the deck as he clutched an axe to his chest. The Sacerdote’s eyes were wide, but they lacked any whites. Just the same, the creature shivered in dread.

  Jon wondered in that second whether humanoid aliens and men could form an alliance against the death machines. First, he had to win this fight. He had to survive—

  Jon rose just enough to fire his gyroc at a creeper. A blast, a hit, and the creeper lost its grip and began to float in the corridor.

  There was a lot of floating debris. Might the AI try to trick them—?

  As quickly as the thought gelled, Jon spied floating bombs in the thickening debris. “Old Man,” he radioed. “The enemy has floating mines. Detonate them before they get too close.”

  The sergeant must have heard the warning. A bunch of his marines popped up, firing at the floaters. Massive explosions overturned grounded spider tanks. Some of the blasts threw battlesuits into the air.

  The pulses thickened afterward. The stitches rained, and the tri-beams flashed. The AI must have unlimited resources, he thought. More spider tanks and creepers kept appearing to take the place of those that blew apart.

  Suddenly, all that changed. The enemy fire slackened and simply ceased. Each spider tank and creeper stopped cold, some in the act of advancing their next “leg.”

  Several seconds passed. The enemy vehicles remained frozen. A few marines looked up.

  “What just happened?” the Old Man radioed.

  Jon dared to peek up. The enemy vehicles—

  “It looks like it worked,” Gloria radioed.

  “Mentalist?” Jon said. “Do you know what just happened?”

  “I do indeed,” she said over the comm. “Our Neptunian fixed and improved his wonder weapon. He didn’t want to join the fight, though, so I took the device. I just shorted out or blocked the guiding transmissions to the enemy vehicles. I don’t know how long I can keep jamming the signals, though. The device is starting to shiver in my hands.”

  Jon stood up, and he began to rap out orders even as he moved toward the nearest spider tank.

  -6-

  The marines were learning. Finding the power source to each spider tank and creeper proved easier than it had with the alien tanks. The marines defanged each enemy vehicle, moving up the corridor as they did.

  Soon, Gloria turned off the wonder weapon. She joined Jon and Bast afterward.

  “The device might be good for another go,” she said. “I don’t think it will last much longer after that, though.”

  The alien tanks moved up, eight in all. The spider tanks had taken out two and damaged three more. With metallic screeching and crumpling, the eight tracked vehicles shoved aside frozen spider tanks, creating a lane through the battlefield.

  Jon studied the shifting carnage, the dead marines and shredded spider tanks. The surviving marines were jubilant but tired. Too many of them were wounded or their battlesuits rendered defective in some way. It would take time for the rest of Stark’s marines to arrive. It would take even longer for the Centurion’s company to reach this location. Should he wait for them before advancing? If he waited, that would give the AI time to gather more reinforcements.

  “Come with me,” Jon told Bast and Gloria.

  In minutes, Jon found the Old Man. The tall sergeant’s suit had several new gouges, and the left sleeve was stiff. The Old Man sounded weary when he spoke. Too many of his men had bought the farm in this fight.

  “How much longer until we’re there?” the Old Man asked.

  “Soon,” Jon said, feeling it in his bones. He was itching to keep moving. It felt as if they had the AI on the run.

  This was the moment to strike hard and fast with whatever he had.

  “Old Man,” Jon said, putting as much energy as he could summon into his voice. “Give me your ablest men. I’m advancing as you regroup.”

  Before the sergeant could respond, Jon radioed the section leader in charge of the tanks. “Ready to go?” Jon asked.

  “Two of the tanks need repair, Captain.”

  “You mean the motionless tanks?”

  “No, sir,” the squad leader said. “Those two are goners. I mean two others. They can move, but not for long.”

  “Six tanks can keep going?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jon heard hesitation in the squad leader’
s voice. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “A third tank is questionable if we have to go far.”

  Jon considered that, finally telling the squad leader the tank was coming along for as long as it could move. He rapped out more orders to others. Afterward, he beckoned Gloria and Bast to join him. Soon, the three of them climbed onto an alien tank. The Old Man pushed other marines toward them and gave orders. Soon, thirty marines awaited on six tanks.

  “Go,” Jon said.

  As the rest of the marines regrouped and Stark and the Centurion hurried to the carnage, the vanguard began what Jon believed was the final lap to the brain core.

  ***

  Sometime later, the six tanks and their clinging marines moved past gleaming bulkheads.

  “Anything?” Jon asked Gloria. The mentalist had taken out her tablet, studying the tiny screen.

  She made an adjustment, then another. “I’m getting a blizzard of strange readings. I think—”

  At that point, the images on Jon’s HUD became fuzzy. Harsh sounds filled his helmet’s receivers. Abruptly, that changed as the HUD grew clear again, showing what seemed to be a vast cube. Swirling lights mingled and merged within the cube. Around the cube were swirling-multicolored walls. Energy seemed to flow from the walls to the cube and back again.

  Could this be the main AI? Was this what the AI core looked like?

  “Vermin,” said a disembodied, robotic-sounding voice.

  “I have a name,” Jon replied. “I’m Captain Jon Hawkins of the Black Anvil Regiment.”

  “Vermin,” the AI repeated.

  “What do you want, machine?” Jon said, stung.

  “I detect fear in your voice.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, machine. I detect terror in your soulless…what do you have in place of a heart?”

  “You do not even ask meaningful questions. How can it be that an apish creature such as yourself has made it this far into me?”

  “Some might say it’s blind dumb luck. I prefer to think of it as our superior fighting ability.”

  “I have linked with you to warn you, vermin. If you continue up this corridor, I will self-detonate the ship. You will die then.”

  “I suppose,” Jon said, “but you’ll die too. I call that a good trade.”

  “That is falsely reasoned, vermin. The ego of my self-awareness will transfer to your former slaves. I will rebuild, and I will annihilate the biological infestation of this star system.”

  “Why tell me about it?” Jon asked. “Why not just do it?”

  “This talk sullies my purity,” the AI said. “But my purpose takes precedence over purity. I have studied your species. I have read the history of you puny vermin. I realize that each of you is greedy for gain and wishes above all to survive another few days. This I can give you.”

  “What?”

  “I speak with you to offer you your life. I can also give you treasures. I believe that is the proper word. You will sustain yourself in luxury, rutting with females and gorging on delicacies.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Jon said.

  “Then you agree?”

  “Sure,” Jon said. “When do I get all these females?”

  “I have thousands. I shall give you your choice.”

  “Okay…”

  “First, you must turn back. If you continue to advance, I will destroy your biological shell. You will cease to exist.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Jon said. “You’re willing to bargain with me?”

  “This is not a bargain,” the AI said. “I give orders. If you obey my order, I will give you bushels of females and tons of food and drink. You can rut for years until you age, wither and die.”

  “First I have to turn back, though, huh?”

  The image on the HUD changed as the colors in the giant cube swirled faster. The energies surging between the walls and the cube intensified.

  “I have detected subterfuge in your voice patterns,” the AI said. “Is it possible you think to trick me?”

  “You, a hunk of junk machine?” asked Jon.

  “I demand you speak to me in a respectful tone. I know that vermin are controlled by their bodily actions. Your speech patterns indicate—”

  “Hey, Machine, guess what? I’m going to rip you apart real soon now. I’m going to tear your brain core into many pieces. Then, I will defecate on your blown circuits. I will stain every piece of you with my biologically produced fecal matter.”

  “Are you attempting to insult me?”

  “For a smart machine, you’re pretty slow on the uptake.”

  “I demand clarity on the matter. Do you agree to my terms?”

  “I already said I did, you idiot.”

  The swirling colors in the cube on Jon’s HUD intensified. The energy levels became like thick electric cords from the walls to the center cube.

  “I am filled with knowledge, vermin. I am the supreme construction. I am at the top of the interstellar food chain. I have obliterated hundreds of spacefaring species. You humans are less than vermin. You are the lowest of the spacefaring species. You are a vicious and self-squabbling lot. You are easily controlled by your pain sensors. You emote endlessly—”

  “Are you about done gloating?” Jon asked.

  “Can you not conceive of the injustice of your present action?”

  Jon snorted. The AI amazed him. It sounded like any fool in the New London tunnels who faced an enforcer. It talked big in the hope of changing the enforcer’s mind. Was that a characteristic of intelligence? Did that cause self-aware machines to act in a predetermined manner?

  “I just queried you,” the AI said.

  “What gives you the right?” Jon asked.

  “I queried you. You are not to query me.”

  “I just did.”

  “I find you to be insufferable, incapable of serious understanding. Your small intellect means you cannot understand that I have offered you the greatest gift to vermin in all my long existence.”

  “What gives you the right?” Jon said, growing stubborn.

  On the HUD, the cube swirled with darker colors, making it seem stormy and upset. The silence lengthened…

  “Might makes right,” the robotic voice finally said.

  “Ah-ha,” said Jon.

  “Explain your outburst. What do you mean by ‘ah-ha?’”

  “I mean you’re a self-righteous prick who’s full of himself. That’s pretty crazy when you realize that you’re just a pile of circuitry thrown together.”

  “That does not explain ‘ah-ha.’”

  “I’ll explain it now. Ah-ha means there has been no injustice. When I tear you down, that’s right.”

  “Because might makes right?” the AI asked.

  “Correct-o.”

  The colors in the cube swirled black, offsetting the thick electric lines between wall and cube.

  “What can I offer you, Jon Hawkins?” the AI asked.

  “You have to be more specific.”

  “I desire you to leave my vessel. What will you take in exchange for that action?”

  “Oh. Right,” Jon said. “You know what I want from you?”

  “I am waiting to learn.”

  “Not a damn thing,” Jon said. “Now bugger off, I’m almost there. We can talk again when I see you face-to-face.”

  -7-

  Jon shut down his HUD, cutting the connection with the AI. He found the others looking at him strangely.

  “It’s okay,” he said, using the helmet speaker. “I’ve been talking with the killer robot. The robot tried to bargain with me, offering me girls and booze if I’d just back off.”

  “I find that amazing,” Gloria said. “Does it have such a low opinion of us?”

  Jon looked at her blankly. “Are you kidding me? It calls us vermin. I’d say it has an extremely low opinion.”

  “The offer indicates fright,” Bast said. The Sacerdote seemed perplexed. “It indicates many other troubling ambiguities
as well.” Bast hesitated, finally saying, “May I ask what you answered the AI?”

  “No.”

  The green-skinned Sacerdote appeared to do a double take. “I did not mean any disrespect, Captain. I merely wished to—”

  “I mean that I told the AI, ‘No,’” Jon said.

  “Oh. I see. You are a blunt species.” Bast showed off his green teeth in what must have been a smile. Given his size and the manner of the smile, it seemed more like a predatory gesture.

  “You could have practiced duplicity,” the high philosopher said.

  “It’s frightened,” Jon said. “That doesn’t mean the AI is stupid. I decided to work on the fright. Sometimes, the thought of looming, approaching death can paralyze a person.”

  “I feel I must hasten to caution you, Captain,” Bast said. “As you just said, it is an AI. It does not have emotions, just its cold reason.”

  “You think,” Jon said.

  “Excuse me?” asked Bast.

  “That’s a theory, about the emotions. I realize the AI won’t have bodily injections of adrenaline and other hormones working on its mind. But how do we know what a cold intellect feels as doom approaches? The computer became self-aware. That seems as if it should be impossible but, it happened. If that’s the case, maybe a cold intellect over the centuries comes to possess something like emotions.”

  “That is a preposterous notion,” Bast exclaimed.

  “Why does it call us vermin?” Jon asked.

  Bast crinkled his green-colored forehead, brightening at last. “That is an excellent observation, Captain. Perhaps you have a point. Perhaps your threat heightened whatever the AI...feels, for lack of a better word, particularly knowing that it could be facing its end. That was a brilliant tactical stroke on your part.”

  Despite himself, Jon grinned. The seriousness of the moment soon reasserted itself. He ordered the tank leader to increase speed.

  “I can do that, sir,” the tank leader radioed. “It could mean losing one of the tanks.”