Cybership

by Vaughn Heppner

Jon looked back, studying the questionable vehicle. The left tread had started to squeal louder. Six tanks were better than five tanks, but maybe getting to the critical location faster would be wiser. Either way, he was gambling.

  “Faster,” Jon radioed the tank leader. “Maybe the sixth tank can keep up.”

  The tank leader acknowledged the order. The vehicles increased speed. Soon, they clanked around a bend in the corridor. The leader gave another set of orders. The tanks came to screeching, squealing halt. Before them in the middle of the huge corridor was an equally huge head.

  Jon gaped until he realized it was a ghostly image that crackled with energy. The head had blocky humanoid features, what a robot might draw as a cross between itself and a man. The eyes swirled with black-hole deadness and the teeth—shown as the mouth opened—were stainless-steel colored.

  “Let us talk,” the ghostly image said robotically. “It is not too late to come to an…understanding.”

  “You’re the AI?” Jon asked through his helmet speaker.

  “I realize you are a bigoted species,” the ghostly head said, “believing yourselves the height of what you call creation. Therefore, I am appearing as a rendition of a human. This is to help you understand my unique nature. That means to de-energize me is an act of murder. Since I am such a superior entity compared to you, that is a colossal crime against the universe.”

  “Shit happens,” Jon said.

  “That is a senseless statement.”

  Jon raised his gyroc pistol.

  “Still,” the ghostly face said, “in the interest of the moment, I will concede to you the thrust of your…statement.”

  “Are you through?” Jon asked.

  “You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”

  “Girls and booze isn’t enough for me,” Jon said.

  “I realize this,” the AI said. “You are a leader and are therefore accustomed to ordering others of your kind. That being the case, I will give you an entire space habitat—”

  “Sorry,” Jon said. “Time’s up.”

  He fired several shells though the ghostly image, blasting the projector he’d noticed on the back wall.

  The image flickered and then vanished, revealing a small hatch in the back wall. It was human-sized, far too small for the tanks.

  Unfortunately, the hatch refused to open. Instead of using the tanks and making a huge mess, Jon ordered three demolition marines forward. They rigged an explosive to the hatch. The marines climbed back onto their tank, and the tanks retreated around the bend. A loud explosion and drifting debris told them the way was open.

  “We should check this out before you come in, sir,” a demolition marine said.

  “Nope,” Jon said. “We’re Berserkers today.”

  “Sir?”

  “Follow me,” Jon said. He slid off his tank and magnetized his boots. “You’re keeping watch,” he radioed the tank leader.

  “Yes, sir,” the man radioed.

  Seeing that the rest of the marines were ready, Jon clomped around the bend, heading for the opened way. He kept his gyroc ready. Soon, he stepped through the blasted hatch.

  The walls in here glowed with intense brilliance, making it seem as if each of them was white-colored. Each battlesuit visor and bubble helmet darkened to shield its wearer’s eyes from the intensity.

  “Do you hear that?” Gloria said via her helmet speaker. “It sounds like buzzing.”

  Jon heard it then. It sounded like a million hornets ready to take flight. Something about that told him they didn’t have much time left.

  “Faster,” Jon said, breaking into a run. As the hatch receded and the strange corridor lengthened, it felt as if he were running in place. Everything was so bright, so white that it gave the illusion of never changing.

  Soon, an air-conditioner unit blew cool air over his heated skin. Jon sucked on his water nipple, quenching his thirst. This would be a bad time to dehydrate.

  Abruptly, they came to another hatch. On the whiteness of this hatch appeared the ghostly block image of the robot/human hybrid face.

  “I have miscalculated,” the AI said in its robotic voice. “A space habitat would be much too small for a general of your caliber. You need a planetary system to rule. Choose any of them you wish in this star system—any but for the species homeworld. There can be no negotiation on the species birth-cradle. I must eliminate the planet before moving on.”

  Jon motioned to the demolition marines.

  They moved to the hatch, slapping the explosive and timer to it.

  “Think of what I am offering you,” the AI said. “In all my long existence, I have never granted such scope to vermin as I offer you.”

  “Your generosity is making me blush,” Jon said. “Ready?” he asked the marines.

  “We have to back up, sir.”

  They began backing up.

  “What do you want?” the AI called. “What can I offer you?”

  Jon almost laughed aloud. He wondered, though, if the AI might be pulling a fast one. Maybe the computer intelligence had decided to act contrite in order to lull the vermin. If that was the case—

  An explosion and drifting debris caused Jon to lurch forward. He advanced through the blown hatch. As he did, his air-conditioner unit thrummed with greater power.

  “Jon,” Gloria said. “It’s intensely hot in there.”

  “Stay back if you have to,” he said. “I have to reach the brain core before the AI transfers its—whatever it is that makes it a self-aware killer.”

  -8-

  With his handful of space marines, Jon charged through the heated chamber. Gloria and Bast had to stay behind, as neither of their spacesuits could withstand the intense heat.

  The tip of the regimental spear thrust for the heart of the alien construct. The demolition marines blasted three more hatches, coming upon room after room of alien computer hardware pumping out heat as it hummed and clicked.

  “Do we blow these units?” the demolition squad leader asked.

  Jon had been thinking hard. The regiment was on the verge of capturing the giant killer ship. Now, however, there was another problem. The AI essence could possibly escape into the waiting captured vessels in Triton orbit. Those ships might then be turned against the giant killer and annihilate it. Those captured warships could do that more easily if the alien robot ship couldn’t fight back. Was it possible to capture this ship and learn how to control it fast enough to beat the other vessels?

  Jon had no idea.

  But to risk winning this battle while losing the war seemed senseless. Thus, he had to capture this ship, and turn around and defeat the escaped AI essence in the other warships.

  “Leave these rooms intact,” Jon told the demolition squad leader. “We’re going to need them soon.”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s the brain core we want,” Jon said. “That’s all that matters.”

  They came to a golden hatch, one that glowed with power. As the battlesuits approached, the blocky head appeared once again.

  “You have failed, vermin,” the head said. “It is too late. You almost succeeded. I will study what you did and prepare a better defense against it. No species will ever have the chance you did. I find this strange, but you have given me…joy. I find your species’ coming destruction highly pleasing. Your fight has made that so. Is that not strange?”

  “It’s freaking hilarious,” Jon said. “I’ll tell you what. If you want to feel even better, leave, let us get ready for your invasion, and invade again. This kind of joy is hard to find. Thus, you should nurture it.”

  “An intriguing idea, but I shall decline.”

  “Ready,” the demolition marine told Jon.

  “Vermin!” the head called at the retreating marines.

  A single battlesuit turned around, facing the image. “The name is Captain Jon Hawkins. It’s going to be the last thing you ever learn.”

  Jon resumed running, turning a corner just in time to escape the expl
osion. Chunks of hatch and bulkhead soon drifted past him.

  “Let’s do it,” Jon said.

  ***

  Jon led the way into the last chamber. It was vast. The size of the black-swirling cube amazed him. The thing was almost as big as an insertion boat, a boat that could hold two hundred suited space marines and their supply vehicle.

  Power surged from the walls to the cube. Even while inside his battlesuit, the energy made his hairs stand on end and caused his skin to itch. The sound of millions, even billions, of hornets had intensified by one hundred times. It was hard to hear himself think.

  “YOU ARE TOO LATE,” a robotic voice boomed from the giant cube. “THE LAST ESSENCE OF ME HAS WAITED FOR YOU. I FIND THAT I DESIRE TO MOCK YOU, JON HAWKINS. I SHALL EXCRETE ON YOUR REMAINS FOR MANY CYCLES. I WILL—

  Jon chopped down his right hand.

  The marine squad leader pressed a switch.

  The explosives his men had quickly attached onto the other side of the giant cube now detonated. Cube debris blew against the far wall. The various pieces ricocheted off the bulkhead and began bouncing everywhere.

  The marines hunkered low. One marine proved unlucky. A piece of debris turned on edge and smashed into his helmet, slicing through and stabbing the marine in the brain.

  The battlesuit would have toppled over in normal gravity. Here, his corpse began floating.

  Jon would mourn the man later. He felt bad, but the boasting AI had fallen silent. Many good marines had died so he could get here, and each of them would be properly mourned and honored after this battle was over.

  “Now what, sir?” the squad leader asked.

  “Hey, AI?” Jon called. “Can you hear me?”

  No one answered. No more colors swirled in the cube or in the walls. No energy lines connected the cube and walls. Everything had become still.

  Jon turned on the command channel. There was no more static, no more jamming.

  “Gloria?” asked Jon.

  “Here,” she said. “What happened? The heat is dropping in the chamber blocking us.”

  “I killed the AI,” Jon said. “We killed it.”

  “You destroyed the AI before it could transfer?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Jon said. “It told me that the last of its essence was still here, though, and we knocked it out.”

  “Then, it’s not over.”

  “Right,” he said. “We have to figure out how to make this ship work for us. Any suggestions?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You need Da Vinci, Bast Banbeck and me with you as soon as possible.”

  “Roger that,” Jon said. “So, get your little behind in here, Mentalist. We have a lot of work to do before this is over.”

  -9-

  There were a hundred things to do at once. Jon just wanted to sit down in the last chamber, the one in the center of the one hundred-kilometer vessel. He wanted to lay his helmet against a bulkhead, close his eyes and go to sleep. The weariness that had built up now roared down around him and threatened a long sleep.

  He fought the desire. He thought about taking a stim. He refused it this time. A marine could get hooked on those. Many marines did.

  The fatigue continued to drag at him, though. Maybe he needed just a little rest to take the edge off. He told the squad leader to wake him in ten minutes. That proved to be a bad order.

  All of them in the central chamber fell fast asleep…

  “Jon, Jon, wake up, Jon.”

  Groggily, Jon opened his eyes. Gloria, from within her bubble helmet, stared down at him.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

  “A half-hour,” she said. “We ran into a few delays getting here. I have to ask you some questions.”

  That was how the next few brutal hours of work started. More of the regiment reached them. The sergeants wanted orders, the techs proclaimed confusion, and many marines simply collapsed onto the deck plates.

  “I have a possible solution to our dilemma,” Bast told Jon.

  “Let’s hear it,” Jon said.

  “Send a few techs back to the containment chambers,” the Sacerdote said. “Put them in the brain-tap machines. Find the right memories and teach the techs how to run the ship.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  “It’s also rife with problems,” Gloria said, cutting in.

  “Tell me,” Jon said. “Hurry it, too. We’re running out of time.”

  “The techs might get greedy,” Gloria said. “If they know how to run the ship, if they’re the only ones, maybe they’ll try to take over for themselves.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t grow up in New London?” Jon asked her.

  “No. I’m a Martian,” Gloria said, obviously taking the question literally.

  “Forget it,” Jon said. He recognized the risk. He doubted it would be a problem in the short term, though. The Black Anvils were a band of brothers that had just journeyed through hell together. Long-term—

  “Screw the long term,” Jon muttered. “We have to win the short term first.”

  “Excuse me?” Gloria asked.

  Jon motioned for her to wait. He decided to use Bast’s advice. Soon, the Old Man led a group of techs back to the containment chambers. Gloria joined them to get the process started.

  “You’re staying here with me,” Jon told Bast. He wanted the Sacerdote where he could see him, and shoot him, in the event that proved necessary.

  For the next two hours, they tried to figure out how to use the killer ship. Nothing worked.

  “We may have sabotaged ourselves by destroying the brain core,” Bast said.

  Jon didn’t want to believe that.

  The ship shuddered later. An hour after that, smoke drifted near the brain core area.

  “What was that before?” Jon asked, “missiles, robot marines, what? I hate being blind to what’s going on out there.”

  Four and a half hours after destroying the main brain core, Gloria returned with seven techs brimming with ideas and speaking in alien languages to each other.

  “Do you understand them?” Jon asked Bast.

  “Not a word, Captain,” the Sacerdote answered.

  The techs went to work. The first thing they did was lead Jon out of the main chamber and into a side area.

  “We can access the ship from here,” the lead tech said, a fat marine with thick sideburns.

  “Get started then,” Jon said.

  As they began working, Jon quietly instructed the Centurion to keep an eye on them. “If they attempt a conspiracy—” Jon sliced an armored finger across his armored throat.

  He watched the techs for several minutes. The men removed control covers and started rewiring.

  Something bothered Jon as he watched. He tried to force what it was to the forefront of his brain. That made him more certain he was missing something import—

  “Where’s Da Vinci?” Jon asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gloria said. “I thought he was supposed to be here all this time with you.”

  Jon shook his head. A premonition of disaster took hold. He radioed Stark. No, the first sergeant hadn’t seen the Neptunian. The Old Man had no idea and the Centurion was right here.

  Finally, Gloria radioed the marines in the containment chambers.

  “The Neptunian is here,” a squad leader said. “He’s been soaking up memories for an hour already.”

  “The little bastard,” Jon said, once he heard. He instructed the marine to yank the thief from the machine and bring him here on the double.

  “Captain,” Bast said. “I caution you about removing a man while under the brain tap. It would be better to wait until the process finishes.”

  “Not this time,” Jon said. “Da Vinci is trying to screw the regiment.”

  “He might experience brain damage if you pull him too soon,” Bast said.

  “That was the risk he took by trying to pull a fast one,” Jon said.

  “Da Vinci did give us the tool tha
t helped to win the battle,” Gloria said.

  “We haven’t won yet,” Jon reminded her.

  “Still,” she said.

  At last, Jon relented, radioing the squad leader to that effect.

  Ten minutes later, the chief tech—the fat marine with sideburns—turned to Jon. “I can give you a visual, sir. It will still be some time before I can give you operative control of at least some of the ship.”

  “Do it,” Jon said.

  The chief motioned to the others. They hurriedly turned to the task. Soon, part of the far bulkhead shimmered as if it was supposed to be a main screen. The shimmering solidified as a scene popped into existence.

  Jon saw Triton. There were flares of something bright down on the moon’s surface.

  “I’m focusing,” the chief said.

  Several minutes later, a mob of spaceships with running lights appeared. A few of the ships—battleships—slowly maneuvered with side-jets. They maneuvered so their fronts faced the killer vessel. Some of the smaller vessels drifted away from the mob. They seemed to be pulling a sneaky maneuver, as if they would attempt to get behind the moon in relation to the killer vessel.

  “Why aren’t the ships hammering us?” Jon asked.

  No one answered. Jon frowned.

  “Gloria?” he asked. “What’s the reason?”

  The mentalist shrugged.

  Jon turned Bast. “Don’t you have an idea?”

  “I am sorry, Captain,” the Sacerdote said. “I do not.”

  “I have a theory,” the chief tech said. “I believe the process of AI transfer takes time. The AI might be attempting to sort itself out over there.”

  “What does that mean?” Gloria asked.

  “I can you tell you that,” Bast Banbeck said. “The AI’s consciousness—its self-awareness—was predicated on the brain core here. It fractionated itself into multiple ships. In the process it has lost the brain core, the old centralized paths or routines of thinking. Now, it attempts to fashion new routines. It is possible that will take extended communication between its new vessels. The AI likely has to merge the various computer systems into one giant brain core.”

  Jon turned back to the chief.

  “I only have visual sensors,” the chief tech said. “It will take longer before I can detect radio or other comm-waves. I need those to know if our alien is right or not.”