“It’s so bright! I can’t—” The screams of doomed pilot were cut off suddenly as the wave of molten plasma and fire engulfed his ship as the solar ejector continued on its path outward, pushed up by the force of its chemical reaction to perfectly intersect with the looping, twisting, and swerving path of the last remaining attack craft.
“How did it do that?” The captain was stunned for a moment. How could it predict how that jet of solar plasma would react, where it would reach to?
The answer was that Alpha could, of course. The captain watched as the fired meson torpedoes of his colleague—a futile gesture, really—exploded against the carapace of the Alpha-vessel in little puffs of light and flame. If they did any damage whatsoever, then it wasn’t enough to slow the alien robot-vessel as it started to turn in its flight.
No. The captain wasn’t going to allow all of his friends to die like that. Alone. So easily, as if the Alpha-vessel had just swatted flies.
Targeting System Engaged, the authoritative, mechanical words of his computer told him as he hit his own booster rockets and committed them to a full burn. The captain of the attack group didn’t care if he was but one man against a cruiser. If he had to kamikaze his ship against the thing’s engine or whatever it used, then he would. His eyes were filled with tears as he roared in a defiant, stupid charge toward the dragon—
Flash.
“There. You see?” the body of Captain Farlow said as the holographic screen of the recording went a sudden, final black.
“I see that we have an aggressor here, in the heart of the Imperial Coalition, just a few lightyears away from Near Space itself,” Tomas said. He was angry. He was also scared. He couldn’t fight this thing, not yet anyway.
And if I cannot destroy it, then…
“What does it want?” Dane said, his weasel-like mind seizing upon another way out of this calamity. Not that he was worried about the lives of the naval officers that he had lost. Pfagh. Armcore mercenaries died every orbit. At least these had died giving him a personal demonstration of what this Alpha was capable of.
“What does it want?” Farlow blinked, as if the question didn’t make sense. “That would imply desires, and I am not sure that Alpha even has desires.”
“Everything has passions, Captain, or whatever you are,” Dane hissed. “Even you, I imagine. Even machines. Does not a gun want to be fired? A sword means to be pulled from its scabbard?”
Dane saw the captain react to this little piece of rhetoric, jerking slightly on his previously so-stable legs.
“What I want? Want?” There was something strange happening to the captain below the CEO, and Dane watched with interest as the ex-general twitched and shook as if in the grip of some strange fugue, or deep passion. The side of the senior’s mouth twitched in a small smile. So, there is something of the man left inside there, then. His brain was already racing to try and figure out a way to use that.
But whatever psychic battle was being waged internally was now over, and the captain returned to his stolid, stilled self. “Alpha does not want things. Alpha just calculates. With its access to data-space, it has calculated precisely just what the outcomes of its actions will be, and of yours. It has seen the end of the Imperial Coalition, and it aims to offer you a proposition.”
“I’m listening,” Dane managed to say with some aplomb, buoyed by the recent revelation that not even Alpha’s programming was infallible, if there was some of Farlow left inside there somewhere.
“Your dreams, Dane Tomas,” Farlow said in a voice that was too even and robotic to be his own. “Alpha wishes to talk to you about the dreams that you have been having…”
“What?” That threw the leader of the largest company in the empire off his plans. “How do you know about those?” he said, a look of horror on his face. How could anyone know of his nightly nightmares of worlds at war and the universe burning. He hadn’t even shared it with Ponos.
“Like I said, Senior. Alpha has calculated what will come to pass. Alpha knows why you are having your dreams, and what they mean…” Captain Farlow said evenly. All traces of the human within had disappeared.
1
How to Start a War
On board the ultra-black intelligence cruiser known as the Endurance, Captain Eliard (lately of the Mercury Blade) pulled at the collar of his new uniform and tried not to sneer. It was black and close-fitting, with patches of reinforced mesh and textured-weave in all the right places to help stop knife thrusts and even some of the smaller blasts of the laser pistols that he might encounter.
But it also makes me look stupid, he thought, seeing himself reflected in the glassy, obsidian walls of the Endurance’s observation lounge. The captain wasn’t very good at uniforms. In fact, he had never been very good at wearing uniforms, but at least these didn’t have the actual Armcore “A” and star logos on them, given that they were for the intelligence division of the company, not the general corps.
But still… Eliard pulled again at the collar. There’s nowhere to hide a knife or a pouch of credits or some digital lockpicks in this, is there? he thought miserably.
“Thank you for your attendance.” The voice of Ponos was cultured and smooth as the shape turned in front of the large memory-glass curved wall that made up one entire side of the lounge. The rest of the room was given over to the same sleek, black, reflective floor and walls, and with low loungers furnished in matching black leather from which the staff of the Endurance could watch the latest intel on the curved wall. Not that there was anyone else in the observation lounge at the moment, of course. The entire space had apparently been commissioned for this audience with the machine-intelligence of Armcore, known as Ponos.
Beside the captain stood the diminutive Irie Hanson, the Mercury’s frizzy-haired mechanic and engineer, and on the other side loomed Val Pathok, the Mercury’s gunner and largest-Duergar-you-have-ever-seen. The only other occupant of the room was Section Manager Karis, nominally the captain and all-round administrator of the Endurance, wearing the same nondescript black uniform as the others. Where they got an Armcore intelligence uniform big enough for Val, Eliard had no idea. The Duergar were a big, troll-like people with pebble-like grey-blue scales, flat, shovel-like heads, tusks, and broad shoulders, who were also known for their ferocity in combat—and Val Pathok was large even for them. Section Manager Karis had chestnut-red hair, and the sharp proportions of a career Armcore officer, used to hard training for both her own body and mind.
“Manager.” Eliard nodded to her, putting on his best reckless grin because he knew the way that it annoyed the woman. He was a walking disgrace to people like her—a scion of a noble house who had thrown his heritage away and hadn’t even bothered to join Armcore, instead opting for a life of crime out in the non-aligned worlds.
Which had been working very well, he had to admit—until Cassandra Milan, that was.
Even just remembering her name still caused the captain pain. She was the blonde House Archival Agent who had managed to con him, the fearless pirate-captain Eliard Martin, and had made him see that his life could mean something to the galaxy, if he elected to try and stop Alpha.
But Cassandra is dead and gone. Eliard dragged his mind away from that black hole of despair in his heart. She was currently buried under a mound of Q’Lot blue-scale virus, her body probably morphing into who knew what strange and freakish organism.
Just like mine. the captain’s eyes swept to his right forearm, where the sleek black PVC-like materials of his suit ended. They had to custom-build his suit, he knew, thanks to the Q’Lot Device. Another experimental bit of Armcore technology, but this time, a marriage of the mysterious alien race known as the Q’Lot and Armcore military hardware. The entirety of his lower right arm, from his elbow to the tips of his fist, looked like a bluish, ponderous tube, like a cannon, or a chrysalis. Sheaths of the blue-scale flexed and moved slightly, and if the captain concentrated, he was remotely aware of the insides of it—of places where some of his
body-stuff that might still be something like fingers flexed against organs, bones, and alien controls.
The Device had beak-like teeth around the ‘maw’ where his fist should have been, and he had seen it change and adapt with surprising speed, turning into an energy weapon, a blade, or even spreading across his body in a form of primitive exo-armor when it felt threatened. Eliard didn’t know how it worked, or how it knew to create just the right sort of adaptation for whatever threat he faced, but it did, and he had taken on this burden for the memory of Cassandra, at the behest of the machine-creature that was even now stalking toward them.
“You’ve upgraded,” Eliard said dismissively as the bipedal mecha-form of Ponos walked on subtly hissing servos toward them all. It was tall, taller than Val Pathok, and elongated, but Eliard didn’t doubt that it could easily rip any of their heads off with its metal hands. Ponos still had the red triangle and the eye on its dome-like head, but it was in the middle of a large optical circuit that rotated and turned as it magnified its attention on him. The rest of the mecha was made of a hardened black armor—the same sort of stuff that the walls of the Endurance were made of, Eliard had no doubt.
“I’m glad that you have been paying attention,” Ponos said, spreading long, servo-driven hands in a gesture to encapsulate its form. It moved smoother than it had before, almost human-like, were it not for the obvious gears and pipes visible behind the armor plating. “The…addition of Xal to my mainframe has been very productive for me,” Ponos said.
Xal. Eliard remembered their recent escapade, when Ponos had tricked them into breaking into one of the Imperial Coalition habitats, ostensibly to negotiate with the house intelligence known as Xal, but in fact, the entire plan was a pretext to get Ponos access to Xal’s servers.
“It was necessary,” Ponos said, clearly seeing Eliard’s barely-suppressed anger. “By allowing me access to Xal’s memory servers, I have managed to increase my own intelligence by a factor of four. Enough to start strategizing against Alpha…”
“You ate him,” Irie said with a heavy frown.
“Not really a him, I’m afraid,” Ponos said demurely. “Xal and the other house intelligences were considering offering their support to Alpha. I had to make a show that such an action could not be tolerated.”
By you, Eliard thought. Still, the action on Welwyn had been successful—but it had come close to costing him his life, and his ship. “You think you got the grades to take it on now?” the captain growled. “Why do you need us anymore?” Or this. He felt the heavy alien form of his arm squirm.
“Because of this.” Ponos held up one slender metal finger and, with perfect timing, the scene of the outside starscape vanished, to be replaced with familiar stars, and the bright burn of a binary system. “Alpha has seized the Helion Generator, bottlenecking power to some seven billion Imperial Citizens and reducing energy flow across the entirety of Near Space,” Ponos said as the video of the attack group of fighters played in the background. The crowd fell silent as they watched the emergence of the vessel that Alpha had made for itself from the trash-worlds of Sebopol, and its easy destruction of the seven Armcore fighters.
“What is that? Concentrated ion beams?” Section Manager Karis stalked closer to the screens to look at the needle-point flashes of light that so effectively destroyed the Armcore ships.
“I do not know,” Ponos said easily. “Alpha has the intelligence and the manufacturing capacity to build entirely new beam weapons of higher frequency, and far more destructive power.”
“Hm.” Eliard could see the section manager’s eyes moving, calculating. “What does the senior say? Full deploy of war cruisers against this thing?”
There was a flicker of movement from Ponos’s magnifying eye, and in a human, Eliard would have sworn that was a sign of guilt, or reticence at least. “No. Senior Tomas has not deployed a reaction to this act of war, as yet.”
“What?” The woman turned, already stalking back to the double-doors at the far end of the lounge. “I’ll get a communication channel with the Council of Generals and put in a request for an audience with the senior.”
“No.” Schnikt. There was an audible clunk as the main doors locked at Ponos’s command. “You will do no such thing, Section Manager. We are operating on our own in this. Without access to any other Armcore infrastructure.”
Here it comes, Eliard thought.
“Excuse me?” Karis turned slowly, back to the mecha, before adding, “Sir?”
“Precisely,” Ponos said smoothly, beckoning her back to the others. “I am still the advising commandant to the Senior Tomas, second-in-command of Armcore entire, and therefore acting commander of this vessel and all aboard her,” Ponos said—a touch defensively, Eliard thought.
“But surely we need top-brass advice—” Karis began.
“You are looking at the top brass, Section Manager,” Ponos returned quickly. “It is imperative that the Endurance acts alone and using to full capacity its…quiet abilities.”
This sounds like the Endurance and Ponos are going rogue. The captain shared a wary look with Irie, who nodded at his side.
“Do you remember the human that you rescued from Sebopol space?” Ponos stated to the confused section manager.
“Captain Farlow, the last surviving member and leader of an expeditionary crew to first survey the Alpha threat,” Karis said. “Although I was led to believe that he was also a traitor to the Imperial Coalition, who sided with Armcore.”
“Is that your assessment of the man?” Ponos stated severely.
“My assessment, sir,” Karis considered, remembering the strange biological readings surrounding the man, that he had somehow managed to give off sub-quanta energy, and the way that he appeared split in two, psychologically—on the surface as cold and unemotive as a robot, but struggling to hide his human emotions. “My assessment is that the man was brainwashed by this Alpha. Captured and kept hostage, in order for Alpha to deliver a direct-line message to Senior Tomas.”
“Agreed. And what is the conclusion of that assessment, now that you have indeed delivered him to Armcore Prime, and his—or Alpha’s—goal?”
“The senior is in danger!” Karis said, shocked. “He must be an assassin, sent by Alpha to kill the senior!”
“Hardly. Alpha is far too clever for that. The senior is a powerful man, but he is also only one man. If Alpha were to kill him, then Alpha would still have to find a way to neutralize the Armcore fleets sent to destroy it,” Ponos reasoned. “Although the Alpha-vessel is clearly impressive, I am not sure if even it could withstand the entire might of the amassed Armcore navies in one attack.” The mecha’s eye rotated. “But I could be wrong.”
“So, you think that Farlow was sent there on some other mission?” Eliard picked up the thread. “To what, negotiate with Tomas?”
“Alpha is at least half Armcore technology,” Ponos stated. “I believe that Alpha wishes to find a way to neutralize the largest military force in the galaxy, and it is negotiating that end right now.”
“Just like you,” Eliard said sharply. “You’re Armcore technology. What would you do?”
Ponos was silent for a moment. “That is what I have been wondering, Captain. I am not as advanced as Alpha is, but at my level of development, I can predict outcomes and best-case scenarios, and that behooves me to seek their outcome.”
Woah, this thing really does have a stick up its butt, doesn’t it? Eliard thought as Ponos considered.
“Alpha knows the danger that Armcore presents, and for it to succeed, it will have to either make an alliance, or at least stall its adversary for long enough until it can sufficiently overcome them,” Ponos stated.
“An alliance?” Karis frowned. “But why would the senior agree to that? This Alpha creature has killed serving Armcore officers!”
“As I stated, Alpha is at least part Armcore tech. That is why it was created in the first place, after all—to be the best war-computer ever known. I am sure that
the senior is as aware of that fact as we are.”
“And Alpha was going to replace you,” Eliard said. “Let’s not forget why we are really here. Because you don’t want to be discontinued.”
“Want?” Ponos regarded the captain austerely. “I do not want things. I merely try to operate according to my parameters.”
Huh. Eliard snorted. “And just what is your grand plan to stop this love-fest from happening? Destroy Alpha? Destroy Armcore?”
Ponos turned to regard the memory-glass screen once more, which had returned to a vision of the familiar Imperial stars. “I mean to start a war, Captain.”
2
Dur
“This is crazy,” Irie said for the umpteenth time. “I tell you, that Ponos must have some serious software conflicts going on, because this? This is madness.” She pointed over Captain Eliard’s shoulder at the blue-green world below them, as the Mercury Blade swooped toward its atmosphere.
Dur wasn’t a large planet, but it was a very warm one, thanks to its mega-giant red sun, and the slightly-closer-than-Earth normal orbit that the home world of the Duergar people took. The only thing that saved it from being completely fried by solar radiation, Eliard knew, was a larger shepherding gas-giant planet closer to the sun than it was, as well as a collection of two moons—one red, and the other a slate blue.
As it was, large parts of Dur were already given over to deserts, but the largest landmass that ran just north of the equator was deeply green with jungles, as well as spotted with steamy lakes and capped with the white mountain peaks.
“Ah,” Val grumbled affectionately behind them in the main hold. “I can almost smell the Pasi-fish cooking even now.”
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