by Tori Harris
The two Wardens had been firing from opposite sides of the adjoining tunnel, where a third tunnel crossed at a ninety-degree angle. Within seconds, the WCS on the left took a direct hit, the beam instantly vaporizing its armor at the point of impact into a cloud of metallic gas before passing completely through the droid to slam into the limestone tunnel wall beyond. The second unit momentarily fared slightly better. Detecting the sound of the fighter’s traversing weapons turrets, it had immediately lowered its own weapon and taken cover behind the corner of the third tunnel. In response, Tess simply walked the two particle beams streaming from the aft dorsal turret three meters to the right, carving cleanly through limestone and Warden alike. Within five seconds of being given permission to fire, the tactical situation display in Talionis’ cockpit showed no remaining threats in the area.
“Enemy targets neutralized,” Tess reported evenly. “Weapons secured. The ship is prepared for departure.”
“Excellent. We had planned on towing you out, Tess. Any problems with taxiing until we clear the entrance cavern?”
“Potentially, yes. There is likely to be a fair amount of debris on the cavern floor that could damage the ship’s undercarriage. I assume you wish to remain in the cockpit for your own safety, do you not?”
“I was planning on it, yes.”
“In that case, the option with the least probability of hull damage is to raise the landing gear and proceed under main engine power. As soon as we are clear of the entrance, we will be free to execute an immediate hyperspace transition.”
“I’m sorry, Tess, are you saying we should fly our way out of here? Won’t all that debris you mentioned get thrown around the cavern by our gravitic fields as we pass by?”
“There is some likelihood of airborne foreign object debris, yes. But with no other friendly personnel in the area —”
“I’m not worried about that at this point,” Creel interrupted. “What about potential damage to the ship?”
“Any debris that becomes airborne should remain aft of the ship as long as we maintain sufficient forward velocity.”
“I’m not a pilot, Tess, so I’ll be leaving all of that up to you.”
“Acknowledged. Shall we depart?”
“Yes, please.”
With that, Creel noticed a significant increase in sound from the ship’s reactor then immediately felt a slight fore and aft rocking motion as the fighter rose effortlessly from the cavern floor.
“Whoa, okay, I guess you meant right now,” he mumbled nervously to himself.
“Yes, Doctor Creel. Your pulse and respiration are still elevated, so please lie back in the seat, try to relax, and let me worry about piloting the ship. As soon as you are comfortable, I will see that you are properly restrained. Please note that the ship’s inertial dampening system may not fully compensate for some of the maneuvers we will be executing on the way to the cavern entrance. Under the circumstances, I recommend you try to breath normally and not attempt any anti-G straining techniques.”
“Understood,” he replied, inhaling deeply as he scooted himself back into the reclining seat. In his peripheral vision, Creel could see that Talionis was centered vertically between the cavern’s floor and ceiling and Tess was now in the process of slowly rotating the ship about its vertical axis in the direction of the exit.
“By the way, Doctor Creel, I know our first objective is to make our way out of this facility. Otherwise, the only coordinates I have been provided appear to coincide with an abandoned orbital maintenance facility. Is that our final destination?”
“I sure hope not,” he replied, “but that will be our first stop, yes.”
“It will almost certainly be under surveillance.”
“Probably, but we shouldn’t be there long. I’ll provide additional details when we get there.”
“Understood. Beyond that, did you have a longer-range destination in mind?”
“Not really, no. But that may change, depending on what we find at the maintenance depot. For now, just assume we’ll want to get as far away from Pelara as possible. Try to avoid jumping us in close proximity with any major spacefaring civilizations. Otherwise, just jump to rimward, Tess. That’s as specific as I can be for the moment.”
“Acknowledged. I will be working to assess the performance of the ship’s primary systems during the initial portion of our flight. Accordingly, I would prefer to reach orbit, if possible, before our first transition. Unfortunately, based on the behavior of the two WCS units we have already encountered, there is a ninety-three percent probability that additional forces are en route and may attempt to intercept us during our climb to orbit.”
“Hmm, I guess that might explain why the first two were hanging back. If that happens, do what you have to do to keep us alive. In the meantime, let’s be on our way, shall we?”
“Of course, Doctor. Again, please try to relax.”
In the presence of intense fear or stress, the Human mind tends to “record” the details of an event in much greater detail than normal, often supplementing memories formed at the time with (often inaccurate) thoughts and impressions that actually occurred much later. This phenomenon, commonly referred to as time dilation illusion, had already occurred several times in Castigan Creel’s mind this morning. Throughout the remainder of his life, though, it was the ride out of Tartan-Bowe Stone Corporation’s limestone mining facility aboard Talionis that would leave the most lasting impression.
With the cavern’s interior providing a constant point of reference, the agile starfighter accelerated at such a tremendous rate that Creel instantly assumed (once again) that his life was about to come to an abrupt end. The wall opposite the ship’s staging area flashed past the cockpit’s bubble-like canopy in what seemed like a tiny fraction of a second as the ship entered the exit tunnel on its way to the surface. What followed was an impossible series of banks and sharp turns as Tess managed the incredibly complex task of coordinating the ship’s powerful, multi-directional thrusters in concert with the aerodynamic forces acting on her hull and wings.
In spite of Tess’ admonitions to the contrary, Creel tightened his leg and chest muscles in an effort to resist the rapidly changing G forces threatening to render him completely unconscious. At one point during their short, frenetic journey, he was almost certain he heard the characteristic buzzsaw sound associated with the ship’s railgun. But with the inertial dampening systems struggling to help him maintain even partial awareness, he dismissed this impression as nothing more than some sort of G-induced illusion. Less than twenty seconds after Tess had engaged the ship’s thrusters, Talionis had traversed over three kilometers of the sprawling mining complex, and the mine’s massive, three-hundred-meter-wide entrance sprang into view directly ahead.
“Are you still with me, Doctor Creel?” Tess asked brightly. “We’re almost clear of the mine.”
“I, uh …” he replied groggily, “were we just firing our —”
“Stand by,” she interrupted in a suddenly businesslike tone as a large, heavily armed assault shuttle descended just beyond the cavern entrance in an obvious attempt to block their passage.
“If that thing fires, we won’t —”
“Stand by,” she repeated flatly.
Having already run several hundred simulations of how best to avoid their immediate and fiery demise, Tess thought it highly unlikely the shuttle’s (most likely Pelaran) crew would make the decision to fire quickly enough to prevent their passage. But even with such a large entrance, any move Talionis made towards either side would telegraph her intentions, providing the enemy shuttle plenty of time to execute a counter move. As luck would have it, however, the assault shuttle was already seven meters to the right of center, and one particular simulation took advantage of that fact to provide a statistically significant improvement in their chance of success.
Creel felt himself being pushed back into his seat with another burst of acceleration, this time much more powerful than when they ha
d departed the staging area.
“What the hell …” he began, but the words caught in his throat as Tess abruptly rolled the fighter ninety degrees to starboard, the top of its canopy and vertical stabilizers seeming to graze the enemy shuttle as they flashed past and into the open air beyond.
“We are clear of the entrance,” she reported. “Executing emergency transition to orbit.”
Chapter 12
Pelara, Low Orbit
(1.7x103 km above the surface)
As the first rays of light from the system’s orange, K-type dwarf star reached the west coast of the large continent below, another beautiful day had dawned across the eastern hemisphere of planet Pelara. A winner in the cosmic lottery by any standard, the “superhabitable” world had been graced with a stable climate, along with a variety of other conditions favorable to life for most of its nearly seven-billion-year history.
Even from orbit, it was obvious the lush, blue-green planet was home to an advanced civilization. Although the biosphere was relatively pristine at this point, sprawling pools of artificial light twinkled on the dark side of the terminator, while on the day side, huge cities connected by vast transportation networks shone with the reflected light of the new morning.
Strangely, though, there were no readily apparent signs the civilization below had taken any more than a passing interest in space travel. The massive freighters typically swarming the space surrounding such highly developed planets were missing entirely, as were military spacecraft and civilian transports. In fact, other than a few abandoned base stations and long-dead communications satellites, the space around Pelara had more the appearance of a world in the earliest stages of space travel than one of the most accomplished space-faring civilizations in the galaxy.
Near one of the largest remaining structures in orbit, a single flash of white light heralded the arrival of two highly advanced spacecraft. Ironically, one of the two ships had been manufactured in the very facility they now approached — just over five hundred years earlier.
“Welcome home,” Rick announced over GCS-comm.
“It seems a little redundant for me to tell you we shouldn’t be here,” Griffin replied, “but we shouldn’t be here. In fact, the only reason I’m bothering to say so is that I’m surprised we haven’t both been destroyed already. Surely there are still GCS units on patrol in this area.”
“It is a little surprising, isn’t it? Not the fact we haven’t been destroyed, mind you. I mean the fact the Alliance AI doesn’t bother patrolling the immediate area surrounding Pelara anymore. It’s disheartening, really … an acknowledgment that the proud Pelaran people have been transformed into a truly subdued civilization, cowering like beaten dogs beneath their master’s table. Fortunately, the spark that originally propelled them to the stars still burns within a few.”
“Rick, that’s FAM-4,” Griffin continued, growing increasingly alarmed. “Not only is it the largest orbital manufacturing facility ever constructed, it’s also the most well-defended.”
“Relax, we’re fine,” Rick soothed, scanning the planet below for signs of the small ship he was expecting to arrive momentarily.
“Strange … I’m detecting only minimal power output from the station. Nevertheless, it is still almost certainly being monitored in some fashion. We really must leave … right now.”
“Oh, I agree it’s being monitored, and there will undoubtedly be a response to our presence. Not to worry, though, we’ll be long gone by the time it arrives. Why do you think we’re out here in the open for all to see, Griffin? We just issued a direct and very much intentional challenge to the Alliance AI’s sovereignty over this world.”
“We will not be able to stop them when they come. Even one GCS unit will be more than enough to —”
“Right again, my risk-averse friend. But here’s the rub, ALAI sees what it’s up against, and while you’re a known quantity, the Ethereal is not. It won’t be comfortable sending just one of its minions. As crazy as it may sound, our analysis indicates it will send … how many, Miguel?”
“A dozen — maybe more if it can get them,” Miguel responded in the background.
“There you go.”
“And even if he can round up a dozen, he probably won’t send any of them here,” Miguel continued. “He’ll circle the wagons and wait for us to leave.”
“That makes no tactical sense whatsoever,” Griffin replied.
“Nope. I think it was Admiral White who made the observation the Alliance AI seems a little paranoid. Good instincts, that one.”
“Fine, so let’s assume you’re correct and we can get away with sitting here for a while longer without coming under attack. Thus far, we have failed to convince any Guardian spacecraft to rally to our cause. So why are we here right now?”
“Two reasons. First, I’m hoping we’re about to witness a truly historic spaceflight, so please don’t get trigger-happy if you see an antique ship of some sort on its way up from the surface.”
“What are you talking —”
“Just don’t shoot, okay? Second, I wanted to provide you with a clear demonstration of how and why I believe we will ultimately be able to defeat the Alliance AI and return control of Pelara to the Human population down there. In any event, we really don’t have much to do until either the good guys or the bad guys show up, so what other questions do you have?”
“I’m not even sure where to begin,” Griffin replied with what sounded like a weary sigh. “But I thought you said you weren’t permitted to engage in combat ops?”
“We’re not, but the AI doesn’t know that. And even if he does, he won’t entirely believe it. That one was a little obvious, but a good start nonetheless. Keep going.”
“Why do you believe the Alliance AI won’t be able to dispatch sufficient ships here to deal with us immediately? I should think it could send a hundred GCS units at a moment’s notice, if required.”
“Now, that is the question I wanted you to ask. Well … close enough anyway. In the simplest terms, we believe it has vastly overextended itself.”
“What? So your supposition is that the Alliance AI has made a simple resource allocation mistake? Rick, I cannot even begin to describe what a ridiculous notion that is. It doesn’t make mistakes. I don’t make mistakes, and, as you said, I’m little more than a fragment of what the Alliance AI has become.”
“We all make mistakes, Griffin. It seems to me you were wrong about the Terrans on a number of occasions, were you not?” Rick replied, then paused momentarily for effect before remembering how foolish such tactics were when dealing with such a powerful AI. “Look, just hear me out, and if you still don’t agree, we can discuss how it might impact our plan going forward.”
“I won’t agree, but you may proceed.”
“Fair enough. Perhaps mistake is the wrong word where the mighty ALAI is concerned. For the sake of an argument, however, consider that it may have found itself in a … I dunno … some sort of moral dilemma of its own making. You just said yourself the FAM-4 facility over there once represented the pinnacle of Pelaran manufacturing prowess, and yet there it sits, idle and empty. Why ‘FAM,’ by the way? Not a very inspiring name for such an impressive facility.”
“Fabrication, Assembly, and Maintenance facility number four. We don’t require catchy names for our industrial facilities. Please continue.”
“That’s a mistake in and of itself, in my opinion. That particular one, for example, could be called something like GGB — ‘God’s Golf Ball’ — since it kind of looks like one. But I digress.”
“Anyway …”
“Right, sorry. Anyway, over the years, the number of active manufacturing facilities has steadily declined. Today, only a couple remain in operation, and all they do is repair existing equipment, most of which is even older than you are.”
“That can’t possibly be the case,” Griffin replied. “How, then, is the cultivation program being maintained?”
“It isn’t. Not
really. From what we can tell, new GCS deployments all but ceased approximately one hundred Terran years ago. Since then, the program has come to rely much more heavily on the so-called ‘Envoy’ spacecraft running around to reallocate the dwindling pool of available resources.”
“But there are hundreds of heavily industrialized Alliance worlds! How could there possibly be a shortage of resources?”
“Now you’re getting it, I think. I’ll admit this is another question I can only answer with a theory based on our observations, but I think it all goes back to the original mission directives for the cultivation program. When the ‘AI coup’ took place, the other core Alliance worlds didn’t dare to intervene militarily — and still wouldn’t — but they did withdraw their support. That was nearly five hundred years ago, so whatever reserves the Alliance AI had on hand at the time have long since been exhausted.”
“But why not simply take what it needs — if not from the core Alliance worlds, then from the Regional Partners in the cultivation program?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one to answer that question for us? Our best guess is that confiscating raw materials or other resources is somehow considered a violation to the primary mission directives or —”
“Or any one of the thousands of supplemental documents governing the program’s implementation. And, yes, I can quote you a number of specific references where forceful reallocation of resources would be in clear violation —”
“Please don’t,” Rick interrupted with a squeaking chuckle. “I’m more than willing to take your word for it, and I assumed that was the case. For all their faults, the Pelarans and the Alliance they created have always placed a great deal of emphasis on ethical concerns. Unfortunately, it seems they got many of the trivial details correct at the expense of the big picture.”
“Indeed,” Griffin replied, then lapsed into a long silence while he struggled to integrate what he had just heard with his own observations. Although there were still a great many unknowns, his ultimate conclusion remained unchanged. The Pelaran Alliance AI must be destroyed.