Jon had known a rough existence, but it had taught him many useful lessons. He had one critical strength, one power that others often claimed to have but in reality did not. Jon could learn. He could particularly learn from his mistakes. Unfortunately, he had learned far too much during his rather short life because he had made too many mistakes.
He turned, facing the only other occupant in the chamber.
Her name was Gloria Sanchez, a tiny dark-haired waif from Mars. She was a mentalist, pretty but a little too prone to anger. Mentalists were supposed to think like computers, logically and without emotion. Gloria was a large part of the reason why Jon had made it this far.
Gloria tapped her tablet, which lay on the table. “There’s no doubt. I’ve run the analysis five times with meticulous—”
“I don’t doubt you,” Jon said, interrupting.
She waited.
“It’s just…”
“One thing after another,” Gloria finished. “I know. That is the way of life. You’re going to have to make a choice nevertheless. Luckily, the construction robots are fantastically flexible and programmable. We’ve also figured out how to program for smaller matter/antimatter drives and gravity control. We actually have many options, if you think about it.”
Jon frowned. After months, years, of hard decisions, he’d grown accustomed in this short time to relaxing just a little. He should have known it wouldn’t last—couldn’t last— given their problems.
“Okay,” he said, pulling out a chair, sitting down. “We can use our last stored supplies to repair more of the Nathan Graham or we can manufacture a fighting platform with landers and penetration bombs to take out the aliens hiding on Makemake. We’re going to need the dwarf planet’s ores to get the moon’s factories running again.”
“Did you forget about the Senda already?”
Jon stared at her. He had forgotten. “Refresh my memory.”
Gloria did not have to tap her tablet to reread the data. She could memorize information like nobody’s business because of her mentalist training. The ability was almost supernatural, one of the reasons a few people called her a “witch” behind her back.
“A week ago, we detected a strange signal from Senda,” she said. “The dwarf planet is presently two hundred and twelve AUs from us. That means the signal was over twenty-nine hours old before we picked it up. In any case, I have given it a seventy-eight percent probability of being cyber-related.”
“The alien robots?”
“That is what I said.”
Jon chewed on his lower lip and shook his head. “Let’s forget about Senda for a second.”
“I would not advise you do that. I spoke to Bast Banbeck about the Senda signal. He and I both agree that the main problem is an enemy ship.”
“The Senda robots built another cybership this fast?” Jon asked, dismayed.
“Excuse me. I do not mean a one-hundred-kilometer vessel. I mean a regular ship controlled by the cybers.”
“The robots.”
Gloria shrugged.
“What do you and Bast Banbeck think the robots plan to do with their regular ship?”
“The logical move would be for them to race far enough away to enter hyperdrive. If I were the…robots, I would seek reinforcements.”
“We can’t let the ship get away, if that’s what the robots plan to do.”
“Precisely,” Gloria said.
Jon drummed his fingers on the table, nodding a moment later. “I doubt you’re suggesting we take the Nathan Graham to Senda.”
“In fact, I am. We should use the remaining supplies to repair the engine, go to Senda and destroy the robots. Afterward, we can return here—”
“No!” Jon said, his features hardening. “The first priority is fixing the Nathan Graham one hundred percent. All our power comes from it. That’s a quote from Mao Zedong.”
“The precise quote is: Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.”
“Same difference,” Jon said. “We fix the Nathan Graham before we do anything else.”
“That leads us to several quandaries. Do we use the last resources—?”
“I know what the problem is,” Jon snapped, interrupting.
Gloria waited until some of the grimness of purpose departed the captain’s face.
“What good does it do to repair our cybership if five more AI-controlled cyberships enter our star system and eliminate us?” Gloria asked.
“No good, given those conditions,” he admitted. “I get your point. We have to do something about Senda.” He shrugged. “Why don’t we rig the NSN destroyer with new tech, new engines and gravity control? It can lie in wait for any AI ship leaving Senda. When the enemy does that—BAM—the destroyer attacks and eliminates it.”
“That could work if we act quickly. The sooner we alter the destroyer, the better the probability it can complete its mission by reaching Senda in time.”
“I see now why you said Senda is part of the problem. We need to do everything at once. Hmmm… Let’s use some of the robo-builders to refit the destroyer while the others construct the platform, landers and deep bombs.”
“You forgot one other item.”
Jon blinked at her several times. “And repair the sabotaged moon factories. That will stretch everything pretty thin.”
“Our margin for error will be nonexistent,” Gloria said.
Jon exhaled, nodding. “We’ll have to operate under high alert for a few more weeks.”
“The men are already exhausted.”
Jon shrugged. “Better a little less sleep than turning into a cyber-zombie because the AIs win. The men know the score. They’ll cope.”
Gloria opened her mouth to respond, slowly closing it instead without saying anything more.
“The penetration bombs and platform take precedence,” Jon said. “Senda is a house of probabilities. We’ll play the odds, but not at the expense of failing to get the moon dock running full tilt as soon as possible.”
“Logical,” Gloria admitted.
“Did it hurt you saying that?”
A small smile played on Gloria’s face. She shook her head ever so slightly.
Jon stood abruptly. “I’ll have to talk to Ghent.”
“You have to talk to the CPS spokesperson first.”
“Yeah. I almost forgot. You speak to Ghent then. Get things started. I’ll go make my pitch to the Chief Executive. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Captain. It will dearly help our long-term goal if Uranus System—”
“I know, I know,” Jon said, as he headed for the exit.
-2-
Jon cleared his throat as he sat before a comm screen. He sat erectly with his palms on a large, empty desk. Behind him was the regimental flag with a huge black anvil on a red field.
“Three…two…one…go,” Bast Banbeck said.
The green-skinned Sacerdote stood to the side, a seven-foot alien giant. He looked like a huge Neanderthal, with a large brown tunic, belt and big holster. He was a high philosopher, a deep thinker and the last known member of his race.
“Greetings,” Jon said into the screen at the edge of his desk. “I am Captain Jon Hawkins of the Free Fighting Vessel Nathan Graham. It is an honor to speak to the Chief Executive of the Committee for Public Safety, Uranus System.”
The Uranus System was presently orbiting on the opposite side of the Sun from Makemake. The dwarf planet was 49 AUs from the Sun, while the space habitat orbiting Uranus was 19.18 AUs from the Sun. That meant the habitat and the moon MK2 were 68.18 AUs from each other. At the speed of light, a message took 9.45 hours to go from one place to the other. Naturally, there could be no back and forth talking between them in real time. Thus, they sent messages, having to wait over 19 hours for the reply to return.
Jon hadn’t called before because the Uranus System had been considered to be firmly within the Solar League.
Ever since the Nathan Graham had ripped the Saturn System out of the Solar L
eague, the Uranus System government had refrained from sending its taxes to Earth. That had caused friction and resulted in many messages back and forth between Premier J.P. Justinian’s office and the Uranus System.
Lately, maybe due to the bloody political purges taking place on Earth, the Uranus System’s disquiet had turned into full-scale rebellion. Several days ago, the Uranus System’s Committee for Public Safety had been formed, with a Chief Executive speaking for the new government.
Jon wished to bring the Uranus System into the fold. The shattered Neptune System, along with the Saturn System, sided with the Nathan Graham against the Solar League. The league controlled the rest of the Solar System, with the exception of the Kuiper Belt and the distant Oort cloud.
If the Uranus System joined the freedom fighters, then the only Outer Planets holdout would be the Jupiter System. Jupiter System was the most powerful of the Outer Planets, meaning that tearing it from the Solar League could prove costly.
“I wish to assure you, Chief Executive,” Jon continued, “that despite the bald-faced lies issuing from the Premier’s office, the Nathan Graham is operating at full efficiency. We have discovered a vast treasure trove of alien technology out here and are presently installing some of it into our vessel. These additions will make the Nathan Graham even more formidable than before. You can be sure that the Solar League has no combination of warships that can face us. We are more than willing to enter into a political accord with you. Join us, Chief Executive. Join the Saturn and Neptune Systems in a grand coalition of the free against the oppressive tyranny of the murderous J.P. Justinian. The bizarre antics of Social Dynamism have held us all in thrall for far too long. Humanity yearns for freedom. I look forward to working with you, Chief Executive, and the Committee for Public Safety, as we forge a new era of freedom and plenty for everyone.”
Jon stared intently at the screen. “I await your decision, and I wish you and the people of the Uranus System the best. Captain Jon Hawkins speaking.”
Bast pressed a switch. The Sacerdote spoke heavily afterward. “The comm is off, Captain.”
Jon’s shoulders folded inward before he leaned back in his chair and pulled off the tie. “Never could get used to these.” He threw the tie onto the desk. “How did I sound?”
“Captain?” the Sacerdote asked.
“Never mind. You’re still studying human body language and tones. I’ll have to ask Gloria later how she thinks I did.”
“If I could,” Bast said, “I would like to hear her remarks. It will help me in my understanding of human communication.”
“Sure, why not?”
Bast paused before he added, “You seemed confident…”
“Go on,” Jon said, side-glancing at the big Sacerdote. “You clearly want to say more.”
“If I may, Captain, your pose struck me as artificial.”
“That’s because you know me. To the Chief Executive and his people I’ll look confident and assured.”
“Perhaps that is so.”
“Was there anything else?”
“You almost seemed nervous. Perhaps the word I’m searching for is anxious. Yes. You seemed anxious for their answer.”
Jon sat up. “Maybe I did. You’re right. I used the wrong tone at the end. I should have acted…tougher, more like an enforcer. We’re trying to woo them to our side. I should have acted more easily confident.”
“I realize the political ramifications of the message, of course. Your ways of speaking with them were simply more…subtle than I had anticipated.”
“Subtle, huh? So Sacerdotes are blunt?”
“I would deem the word ‘direct’ or perhaps ‘straightforward’ as more appropriate.”
The captain stood. “I’d love to chat, Bast. But I have work to do, decisions to make. We have to do something about the robots down on Makemake.”
“Oh,” Bast said. “That reminds me. The Old Man gave me a message for you. He said to tell you after the proposal to the Chief Executive— You just reminded me by your comment. It’s from the robots.”
“On Makemake?”
“Yes, Captain. It appears they have a proposal for you.”
-3-
Jon and the Old Man were in the same comm chamber, although Bast Banbeck was no longer present.
The Old Man used to be a sergeant under Colonel Nathan Graham, when the colonel ran the regiment as a mercenary outfit. The Old Man didn’t bother much with ranks these days, although technically he was a major.
The Old Man was tall and spare with thinning utterly-black dyed hair. He smoked a pipe and had bags under his eyes. He was a reasonably efficient Intelligence Chief. The Old Man might have been the most reasonable and likeable person among them. The stint as Intelligence Chief had tired him, but it hadn’t taken away his level-headedness.
“Did you speak to an AI?” Jon asked.
“No, sir. Just their human spokesman.”
“You mean…”
The Old Man nodded grimly.
“They figure I’ll just ignore something like that?” Jon asked.
“I don’t know what they think, sir.”
Jon had obliquely referred to a horrible cyber practice first seen on the cybership in the Neptune System. The AIs inserted rods into a person’s head—a living person’s head—and wired his brain directly to cyber controls. The AIs used the human to speak and hear responses for them.
“Yeah…” Jon said. “I’ll talk to the bastards.”
As Jon moved to the chair, he angrily swept the tie off the desk and onto the floor. He wouldn’t knot a tie in order to speak to a cyber-mouthpiece. Sitting down and running his fingers through his hair, Jon scowled as he hunched forward.
The Old Man puffed on his pipe, putting a pleasant aroma into the chamber. He took out the pipe, and said, “If I may, sir…?”
“What is it?”
“Getting angry isn’t going to help us this time.”
Jon straightened his posture and ran a hand over his features. He composed himself, sitting back against the chair.
“Are the robots ready?” he asked.
The Old Man unhooked a communicator from his belt, checking it. He pressed a switch and waited. Finally, a red light blinked on the communicator. He looked up. “Ready, sir.”
“Let’s do this,” Jon said.
The Old Man activated a switch to the side.
Jon’s screen changed colors. A second later, an aged human lacking all hair, including eyebrows, appeared. The robots had indeed drilled rods into the sides of his head and jaws. Four rods were connected to a circular bar around the man’s head. Wires led away from the circuit to something out of sight. The man’s eyes were a dark color, staring into nothingness. The wall behind him was blank.
The wires jiggled as if power moved through them. The hairless eyebrows jumped up. The mouth twisted in obvious pain. The eyes focused on Jon.
“You are the leader?” the man intoned in a robotic fashion.
Jon would ask Walleye later if he recognized the human slave. Revulsion and pity filled the captain. He remembered once again why he hated the AIs so much. They were loathsomely cruel and sadistic, using people as if they were mere objects.
“I’m Captain Jon Hawkins. Who the hell are you?”
“I am Unit 52-9,” the man intoned.
“Does that mean the human—?”
“Jon Hawkins,” the man said sharply, interrupting. “Do not address the speaking unit as the intelligence. I am Unit 52-9. I control the urban center and from it, the entire surface of what you refer to as Makemake. You will do me the courtesy of addressing me as me.”
“You must be an AI,” Jon said.
Gloria had studied the cyber transmissions from the former alien escape pod. Unit 23-7 had attempted to transfer old computer files to the cybership they’d destroyed some months ago.
“You have made a first level assumption,” the speaking unit said, “but it is correct. I am Unit 52-9, and I control Makemake.
”
Jon almost said, “For now,” but he kept his mouth shut. There was no sense in giving the AIs advanced warning about anything.
“I have summoned you to give you an order,” the speaking unit said.
“Hey, buddy, you didn’t summon me. You asked to speak to me.”
“Your terminology is antiquated and imprecise. You came. We speak. Now, I demand that you vacate MK2. That is in your parlance. I refer to the moon, of course.”
“Demand all you want,” Jon said, feeling his temper slipping.
“Is it your conviction to remain inside the moon?”
All at once, Jon reversed course. He pushed down the revulsion and brought out the old dome rat persona. It changed his features. The tightness to his skin departed and a half smile pulled at his lips. He reverted to his old punkish ways.
“So…you want me to leave the moon, huh?” Jon asked.
“That is correct.”
“What will you give me in return?”
“Extended life,” the speaker unit said.
Jon laughed, nodding. “That’s generous. How long will give me to vacate?”
“You must vacate the premises immediately.”
“I might need a little longer than that.”
“Two hours, but by then—”
“Hey, get serious, huh? Leaving will take time. How about six weeks?”
A blank look appeared in the captive’s eyes before he said, “You are attempting to equivocate.”
Jon shook his head. “It’s called bargaining.”
On the screen, the captive’s eyes went blank again. Several seconds later, the outer wires jiggled. Just like the first time, it made the man’s eyebrows shoot up and his mouth to twist painfully.
“I perceive your meaning,” the speaker unit said. “Let me change your equation, Jon Hawkins. I have used these past time units to build hypersonic missiles. I could launch now and demolish MK2. However, my predecessor spent time and effort to develop MK2 into a production unit. I desire the production unit. Instead of destroying you for your past offenses, I will grant you extended life if you vacate. This gives each of us desired good. You will retain your life. I will retain the production unit. It is a win-win proposal.”
A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 2