Synchronicity Trilogy Omnibus

by Michael McCloskey

  Bren picked the camera view from Meridian back up as the machines responded to the orders. The ASSAIL provided a slow, agonizing show for Bren, moving through the station corridors to clear rec areas, pools, and even two night clubs. Bren watched and waited for the alien to reappear.

  The column moved through an empty cafeteria. The tables remained, but the food service area was covered in white sheets.

  “The cafeterias are practically in mothballs again,” Bren noted. He knew that for some reason, the aliens had made everyone wear the gear and enforced the rules that the helmets stay on everywhere but the personal quarters. As a result, the cafeteria spaces were available for other miscellaneous use.

  Boom. Boom.

  The sound of 12mm fire broke out in the tight corridors, picked up by the machine’s sensors, and transmitted straight into Bren’s brain through his link.

  “New fractures!” Hoffman reported.

  Brrroom. Brrrroooom. Boom.

  Bren saw Meridian shoot at least four rounds at an angle through the wall on its right.

  “Neptune has fractures,” said a handler. The ASSAIL would be advised of the condition of its armor. It was hoped this new information could keep the ASSAIL units alive longer.

  “Odin has fractures,” said the voice of another handler. “Damn! Odin out of action.” A loud noise came from beside Bren in the Guts. He assumed the handler had smashed or thrown something, but didn’t bother to look.

  A person in gear popped around the corner in front of Meridian. He raised a rifle toward the ASSAIL. Before Bren could even swear aloud, he heard the report of one of Meridian’s 12mm cannons. The black helmet exploded. A bright crimson cascade blossomed on the wall behind.

  “Meridian,” Bren searched for words. “Was that necessary?”

  “The attacker had to be quickly neutralized to ensure the success of the current board and control operation,” Meridian said.

  Bren considered asking more. If Meridian survived there would be a justification of the action in its mission report, but if the ASSAIL was destroyed, they might never know why the ASSAIL had killed the civilian. The mere presence of the rifle shouldn’t be a threat to the heavily armored ASSAIL machine.

  Bren traded glances with Hoffman. Bren could tell by the look on Hoffman’s face that he was working on the problem as furiously as Bren himself was.

  After a moment, Hoffman said aloud, “Meridian has one of the circular microfractures in his frontal plate. A lucky shot with that rifle could take him out.”

  Bren considered it. “And the mission is likely to fail without Meridian? Maybe.”

  “At this age, Meridian could even look at the vector of the barrel pointed at it and decide if the round would strike its fracture,” Hoffman said.

  The ASSAIL units had stopped firing, but they still moved in careful circles like hunting sharks as if they believed enemies lurked nearby. Finally, Hoffman passed along to Henley that they believed the cafeterias were clear for marines to move in. Lines of men ran into the room. The first couple of squads rushed in and sought cover behind overturned tables and unused food dispensaries. Then more men came in with equipment. Bren saw weapon tripods and more boxes of the smart mines.

  “The machines are clustering closer to that wall,” Hoffman noted. Bren looked at the disposition of all the machines in his PV. At first, he’d thought the ASSAIL machines were stepping out of the way of the marine’s equipment, but now he saw Hoffman was right. The ASSAIL units were edging in one direction.

  He checked the incursion plan. A pane came up in his PV and displayed a map of the route ahead.

  “There’s a security hardpoint in the very next corridor,” Bren said aloud. “The main security office is directly beyond.”

  Suddenly the ASSAILs began to fire. The marine channel filled up with transmissions. Bren switched back to the camera view.

  What he saw confused him. A section of the wall more than ten meters wide had opened up, although Bren couldn’t tell which side had done it or how. People in gear on the far side fired at the marines and the space force was firing back. Grenades rolled across the floor toward the marines. Many of them were hit, sending glue spraying across the white covers of the serving area.

  Several handlers in the Guts reported fractures simultaneously. Bren used his PV to see for himself. The cutting molecules were hitting Nergal, Nemesis, Orion, and Oblivion.

  “Orion is hot,” called a handler. “We’re taking laser fire!”

  Bren knew that meant that the security hardpoint had been exposed by the sundered section of wall. It had a laser emplacement that must be under the control of Claw or its allies. He suspected the wall had been cleared by the locals to allow the laser to fire all the way into the cafeteria.

  Bren’s view had filled with smoke. Shots and explosions still rang out, although the frequency had dropped from the first ten seconds of combat.

  “Frick. Orion is crippled. Nearly useless,” commented the machine’s handler.

  That’s only five left, Bren thought.

  Bren watched a map display to follow the movement of his machines. They had moved forward on the security hardpoint. The machines weren’t firing much now. Only Orion remained behind, presumably out of action.

  As Bren watched, Nergal’s status went red in his PV. Bren checked for details. His information pane on the machine indicated the machine had been destroyed.

  “Nergal’s down,” came the dismal announcement. “Unknown cause, but it had fractures on three sides, so …”

  So Claw probably did it.

  Smoke cleared from Meridian’s camera view. Bren saw marines in the wrecked area of the security hardpoint. The walls were heavily damaged throughout the area. The best walls had gaping holes the size of a man; the worst were reduced to a few smashed panels in the corners with only the support struts left to indicate any barrier had ever existed. Boulders of glue littered the area around the ASSAIL, with gear-clad arms and legs sticking out here and there.

  Meridian didn’t move much. It didn’t fire at anything. Bren saw what he assumed must be a smart mine crawling down a strut. The thing reminded him of a big lumbering bug. A bug that could explode if it so wished, killing selected targets within seven meters.

  “We have the security office,” Henley announced. “This unit’s taken more than fifty percent casualties. I’m setting them up to garrison the hardpoint. We’ll send in another unit from the Vigilant to accompany the remaining ASSAIL machines to take the factories. The laser emplacement is toast. Looks like it’s got a pretty twelve millimeter hole in it.”

  “Is there any good news?” Bren asked.

  “Uhm … yes, actually. I’m told that we recovered our operative,” Henley transmitted. “Wounded but still kicking.”

  I wonder what happened before we got here. She didn’t get Claw, I guess. That was a long shot.

  “Bren, I’ve got a local here, says he wants to help out,” Devin said.

  “What can he do for us?”

  Bren didn’t get an answer. He took the voice connection pointer she had left his link.

  “I’m glad you guys are here,” said a voice. Bren’s PV said it was the Bentra security head of Avalon. “We’ve had enough of these fuckers. Let me onto our systems again, and I’ll help you trap him.”

  “We can use your help. Send me an authorized command channel and I’ll pass it along.”

  “I’ll do that. But you should let us drive it. We know the station better than your people do.”

  “You don’t know my people,” Bren said. The man didn’t know Bren would be giving the channel to an AI core.

  “Okay. Here it is. Let me know if you need our help on anything else. Oh, yeah. One other thing. Some of the systems are experiencing oddities. I think Claw has some kind of control over them, at least we know he did when he first came here, and I have no reason to believe that he ever relinquished that access.”

  Bren took the channel pointer and passed it alo
ng to Meridian. If the ASSAILs hadn’t already broken into the system, having a straightforward authorization for use of the station’s internal sensors and security equipment could be critical. The UNSF could use it to track the spinner, lock hatches, or even deploy security checkpoint weapons. Unless Claw had an iron grip over everything.

  “This authorization is no longer valid,” Meridian told Bren. “Claw curtailed the command powers of the human security forces as soon as I destroyed the laser emplacement.”

  “Can you track the spinner? Claw, I mean,” Bren asked.

  “Claw is a capable opponent with a high degree of sophistication. Its movements are obscured. We have only obtained control of approximately fifteen percent of the station’s computing power and twenty percent of data storage—”

  “Okay, no need to continue the report. Concentrate on the mission at hand.”

  “We have adequate resources to perform the report as well as conduct the incursion. Of course, this data is accessible through your personal view.”

  Bren knew he wasn’t able to find or use most of the information available in his PV as fast as it happened, but he didn’t mention that to Meridian. To do so would highlight his inferiority to the AI core.

  “Perhaps more regular reports would be helpful … of course, without compromising the chances of mission success.”

  “I am warning the marine commander of an imminent attack at the spaceport,” Meridian said.

  Chatter rose on the marine command channel again.

  “Mines are going off in the spaceport,” Henley explained.

  Bren bit off his question. Any evidence that they killed a Red? He tried to stay on only as a listener to the channel. He took an active role only with the ASSAIL channels.

  “The ASSAIL units are over five minutes away,” said Bren.

  “Looks like this spinner is going to stick with hit-and-run tactics,” Henley said. “We don’t see any evidence we got anything. No bodies, human or otherwise.”

  Bren saw that two more marines had been hit and one of them was already dead.

  “We’re going ahead with the plan,” Henley said. “Maybe those mines damaged the spinner.”

  Bren reviewed the incursion plan yet again. The two hydrogen cell factories were last. The Avalon board and control plan involved waiting until the UNSF had more time on the AI cores, and longer to get control of the station’s systems before going into the largest and most complex parts of the station. Thankfully, the factories were pressurized but without oxygen, in order to avoid the danger of explosion. The factories were fully automated. Engineers who worked on the factory floors needed breathing masks, as did marines who intended to go there, but the ASSAILs could operate there without augmentation.

  “Meridian,” Bren transmitted. “Suggest alterations to the mission plan to increase chances of success of primary objectives.”

  The response was immediate.

  “Flood either hydrogen cell factory with oxygen and ignite it. The station would be destroyed. This serves to disable the enemy allowing capture and study.”

  “We aren’t willing to sacrifice the people on board that station, or even the station itself.”

  “Preservation of the station is not stated as a primary objective. Only capture of aliens, or failing that, neutralization of aliens on the station.”

  “If you fail to capture or neutralize the cyborgs, then we probably will destroy the station, but not before.”

  “These constraints seriously hinder the mission. They greatly increase chances of failure.”

  “Understood,” Bren said. He started to brood about the outcome of the mission. They only had four machines left in action. If the Red hadn’t been damaged by the mines, could they hope to prevail? He checked the team’s armor in his PV. Each ASSAIL had several of the armor fractures. A hit by a high velocity projectile in the right place could take any one of them out.

  The ASSAILs moved into the first factory. Somewhat like the previous factory on Tanelorn, the hydrogen cell factory didn’t have a single open floor. The machinery rose several stories high, riddled with access tubes that allowed engineers and bots to maintain it from the inside. To Bren it was like a three-dimensional version of the Guts. So much equipment and machinery built into a tiny space like a complex engineering puzzle.

  Meridian had to bend its legs a little to fit inside the access tube.

  “This is worse than I realized,” Bren transmitted.

  “What do you suggest?” Henley replied.

  Bren considered the open tube on Meridian’s frontal camera. He didn’t even want to mention Meridian’s suggestion. He knew the UNSF wasn’t ready to consider destroying the station unless the Vigilant was in danger of capture, although Bren estimated four ASSAILs against one spinner to be even odds. If there were more than one, they’d lose.

  “Maybe we can enlist some of their own maintenance robots to scout it out. If those things could pinpoint the Red’s location, it might make a difference.”

  “Okay. We have a handful of automated scouts of our own. I’ll hand them over to your cores.”

  “Give your pointers to Meridian,” Bren said.

  “Will do. Is Meridian the leader?”

  “Yes,” Bren said.

  At least it speaks for them. And I don’t really know why. It might be because Meridian always enters the breach first, or just because I usually watch the action through Meridian’s camera.

  Bren brooded over Meridian’s behavior for long minutes while the scouts received programming from the AI cores.

  If Meridian’s behavior means it’s about to go out of our control, giving it slave machines could prove to be a mistake.

  Various other robots were entering the factory area. Bren’s PV showed five recon bots that belonged to the space force as well as another four maintenance machines that had been suborned by the BCP electronics warfare people and handed over to the AI cores. The maintenance machines were flat work platforms mounted on magnetic treads that could move around the maintenance tubes of the factory. Bren watched the marine reconnaissance machines with interest. They looked like agile, six-legged insects. Watching them move gave Bren a chill.

  They’re too lifelike in their movements. They really look alive.

  The ASSAIL units spread out. Each machine moved in front of an access tube leading into the giant mass of the factory. Two of the scouts scurried into the tunnels ahead of the ASSAILs. About fifteen seconds later, the larger war machines followed them in.

  “Here we go,” Bren said aloud. Once again, he felt frustrated. His role lay in preparing for each board and control operation; all he could do now was watch the results.

  Bren’s PV centered a pane that kept track of the machine locations in a two dimensional map of the factory viewed from an “Earthside up” aspect. The factory was large; Bren figured it could take half an hour to clear it. But it didn’t take long for the intrusion to be noticed.

  “Contact near Oblivion,” Bren noted. Both scout machines ahead of Oblivion winked out. Bren switched to Oblivion’s cam to get a look, but he couldn’t get a signal. The PV showed Oblivion backing up with Neptune and Nemesis coming in to support it on both sides.

  Bren winced. Neptune and Nemesis had started firing into the factory. It didn’t seem possible to Bren that both machines had a direct line of sight on the Red, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d seen the cores shoot through walls before. He knew the machines had senses superior to a human as well as a razor intellect that could elect to take shots through walls to kill foes out of sight.

  “Neptune reports that the Red is wounded!” said a handler. Bren saw confirmation in his own PV. He also saw that Neptune had a growing number of the fractures.

  All four remaining machines were firing now. Bren wondered where all those rounds were ending up. Did the machines only fire when they had a backstop? Or did they consider depressurization of the factory a necessary evil? Bren guessed that Admiral Jameson wouldn’t be t
oo angry if they depressurized or even destroyed the factory as long as they got the Red.

  “Neptune has been destroyed,” someone said aloud in the Guts. The voice held the same emotion Bren felt at that moment: fighting against a sinking feeling of doom.

  Bren noticed that Meridian had turned away from the epicenter of the violence. He eyed the display. The turn continued full circle until Meridian fell into line behind Nemesis. Bren immediately became suspicious of Meridian once more. Had it positioned itself behind Nemesis for self-preservation?

  “Nemesis is taking fractures.”

  Nemesis was throwing glue grenades with its tentacle. Meridian opened fire. It stitched three shots into Nemesis. As the machine fell, Meridian sent three more rounds through the dead chassis.

  Hoffman groaned. Bren shook his head.

  “So, that’s it. We have a rogue core,” Bren said aloud.

  “Wait. I’m not sure,” Hoffman said.

  “Claw has been destroyed,” Meridian announced.

  “You shot Nemesis as well,” Bren protested.

  “The course was necessary to assure success of the mission.”

  “It was impossible to disable the creature?” asked Henley. Bren realized that with the marines waiting outside the factory, Henley had probably been following the ASSAIL team as closely as Bren.

  “The cyborg was disabled. It underwent a voluntary disintegration,” Meridian said.

  Henley cursed. “So many men dead and we still haven’t learned anything about the aliens.”

  “A great deal of data has been gathered about the enemy,” Meridian said.

  “Good, we will carefully review your mission summary,” Bren jumped in. “Please return to the Guts as soon as Colonel Henley declares the factory secure.”

  Of course, Bren was really talking to Henley: Let’s not discuss it any further until the cores are shut down.

  He could send Henley private messages through the links. He decided to make it a point to do so in the future. If the cores were smart enough, they’d be able to read between the lines of human communication, despite being only a few hours old.

  “Neptune’s hardware is back up, but the machine is unresponsive,” said a handler. Bren checked the machines in his PV. Meridian and Oblivion were already heading back toward the Guts.