Methlan turned. But he considered the manning down as one insult too many, adding to the grudge that had been forming. In the language of Janus House, the grudge was shock-de-cri. That meant Methlan must nurture the grudge with growing hatred until he erupted one day into a killing frenzy.
-5-
As Methlan nurtured the shock-de-cri, he monitored the drones’ advance-toward-contact with the AI vessel.
The two drones—separated by two AUs from each other—slowly closed the distance between themselves and the AI antidrone shield and the AI vessel farther beyond.
The days passed in anxious waiting. Were two drones enough? Would Walleye’s gamble prove correct? During those days, the drones continued to accelerate. They would never have to decelerate and could therefore use every ounce of fuel and propellant to reach the target.
By the time the drones closed in on the AI antidrones, 132 AUs separated the destroyer and AI vessel.
“Have you made your computations?” Walleyed asked.
“Yes, sir,” Methlan said curtly.
“Are you feeling ill?” the mutant asked.
“A little, sir,” Methlan said. He realized he’d spoken too fiercely, but he couldn’t help himself. The shock-de-cri had almost run its course. Soon, now, Methlan would wash away the insults with Walleye’s blood.
“Proceed,” Walleye said.
Although June was the comm officer, Methlan ran the drones. He thus sent a light-speed message to them. It would take hours for the message to reach the Hercules devices. By that time, the lead drone would almost be in position.
After sending the message, Methlan left, slept a good night’s sleep, ate a large breakfast, exercised, ran and took a long nap. When he finally returned to the bridge, Walleye and June had also returned. They watched the lead drone move into contact range with the AI-launched antidrones.
The first matter/antimatter warhead ignited. It created a terrific blast zone and widening EMP. Both the blast and the EMP washed against the antidrones.
The strange thing about observing such a distant battle was the time. The images the teleoptics saw were already hours old. It would be twice that time if they used active sensors like radar. The radar impulse would have to travel at light speed to the target, bounce off it and travel all the way back to the destroyer’s sensor. At these ranges, teleoptics and possibly thermal sightings were the only reasonable sensors to use for combat data.
“Well?” Walleye asked.
Methlan shrugged moodily. He didn’t know the results of the blast yet. They would find out soon enough if the first drone had taken out enough enemy antidrones because, if it hadn’t, the second drone would fail to reach the AI vessel.
Time passed slowly as they waited.
Walleye and June stayed glued to the main screen. Methlan studied his board.
“I believe the second drone has made it through the antidrone belt,” Methlan declared.
“You’re sure?”
“I would not have said so otherwise.”
June sucked in her breath.
By her reaction, Methlan realized he’d spoken too abruptly. His back was to the others. He felt the sharpened weapon taped against his chest. Today, he would rid himself of the manning-down insult. Today, he would restore his honor.
Methlan wondered if he’d become stir-crazy. He’d been cooped up with these people for too long in the destroyer.
He remembered his long-term goal, but he also had the shock-de-cri grudge. One did not simply abandon such a thing. Only blood could restore his honor.
Will my honor interfere with my long-term goal? Maybe I should cut myself. Maybe my own spilt blood could wash away my anger.
Methlan shivered. That was a bad idea. He was of Janus House, a proud house of exceedingly noble lineage. He must maintain his honor through the accepted forms.
“Tech!” Walleye said.
Slowly, Methlan turned around.
Walleye used a stumpy arm to point at the main screen. “The drone is closing in on the AI vessel.”
Methlan looked up at the main screen, holding his breath.
A terrific detonation took place more than 130 AUs away as the matter/antimatter warhead ignited. Would the blast destroy the AI vessel?
The white blot created by the blast blinded the teleoptics. That only lasted a short time, though.
Methlan turned back to his board. He studied, adjusted—
He saw debris, masses of debris. He rechecked. He considered asking for permission to use active sensors. Then, he decided that he could use the teleoptics to reasonably know the truth. After several more minutes, Methlan straightened and turned around.
“I would like to report, Lieutenant, that the drone eliminated the AI vessel. I don’t doubt that some robots may have survived the wreckage. My preliminary analysis suggests complete destruction of the ship. But with these…things, one can never be fully certain. I request permission to use active sensors for more detailed study.”
“Granted,” Walleye said. The mutant grinned at June. “We did it, Luscious. We took out the first vessel. Now, we have to find the real one.”
Methlan cocked his head. “Why do you say this?”
“Instinct,” Walleye said. “I don’t believe it’s over.”
Methlan wondered if the little freak could be right. He wasn’t going to worry about that yet. He turned back to his instruments. The destruction of the AI vessel had stolen some of the fire of his shock-de-cri. He would have to wait for it to rebuild. Besides, before he struck and took command of the destroyer, he wanted to be certain the AIs were out of play here in the space between the Kuiper Belt and the distant Oort cloud.
-6-
INTERLUDE: EARTH
Frank Benz breathed heavily in the starlight. He clung to a sleek tower built high in the Andes Mountains of South America. This night lacked a moon, ensuring it was even darker than usual.
He’d trained for over two months now and was likely in the best shape a man could coerce a mid-forties body. That might not prove good enough, however.
He wore a stealth suit, another of his special inventions. It wasn’t perfect. It would fail to deceive a human eye looking at it in bright light. However, the suit should get him past the tower’s outer security sensors. It had so far, in any case.
Along with the stealth suit, Benz carried an air-tank on his back because of the high altitude. He breathed almost pure oxygen through his mask. He also used special suction discs, clinging to the smooth tower like a human fly.
It had taken strenuous effort to climb the last part of this Andes Mountain. He’d parked a stealth flitter farther down, trekking up the rest of the way on foot. It had taken even more effort tonight to reach the tower and make the heady ascent.
He had a non-ferrous needler with special ammo. The slivers would dissolve after ten minutes in a human body.
Benz looked up, using his night-vision goggles. He might have too far to go to reach the selected window. His muscles felt flaccid. He let his body relax as much as it could while clinging to a vertical wall. He breathed deeply, trying to replenish his rapidly fading strength.
Vela Shaw had helped him conceive of the assassination mission. It had taken her time to get accustomed to her greater intelligence. At first, she’d had nightmares. Then she’d concocted wild theories at incredible speed. Each person reacted differently to heightened intelligence.
As a precaution—although he dearly liked and was maybe even falling in love with Vela—he’d given her less superior intelligence than his great uncle had given him. Why should she be smarter than he was?
Had that been due to vanity? Did it mean he had hidden ambitions? Had he become too distrustful of human nature after analyzing it these past three years? The answers were likely yes, yes and yes.
Benz sighed. Maybe he should have amped her IQ to even greater heights. Clinging to the tower seemed foolish the longer he tried to regain his strength. Their plan—it was perilous, to say the
least.
Maybe it was even crazy.
No. Don’t think that. You’re also susceptible to suggestion. You have the plan. Now, get going. You don’t have much time left.
Benz gathered his resolve and twisted a hand, removing a suction disc from the wall. He reached up, pushed the disc down so that it stuck again, and began the laborious process of detaching the other sucker discs. Finally, he heaved upward, anchoring himself once again.
By slow degrees, he scaled the tower, the special retreat of Premier J.P. Justinian.
The past months had been interesting. With the destruction of the De Gama House, spontaneous riots had erupted all over the planet. Benz had given that a 42 percent probability going in.
Spontaneous riots were a dictator’s worst nightmare. Secret police could usually root out planned disruptions of any kind. Informers abounded throughout Earth. It was the sudden riots that caught the police by surprise.
In many cities throughout Earth, glass shattered. Looters rampaged, carrying away expensive items from stores. Buildings burned. Rioters clashed with riot police. Twice, the rioters had overwhelmed the police and trampled many of them to death.
The army had been activated after that. But even a few of the army units had had the temerity to revolt and join the rioters.
Benz and Vela had observed the situation with interest.
“Is that what you planned for?” Vela asked. They’d been in a safe house in Lima, Peru Sector.
“By destroying the De Gama House?” he asked.
“Of course you know I don’t mean that. By elevating Justinian to the premiership?”
“Oh. Yes. I thought it would take longer for him to push the people to this point. The purges propelled the people into precipitous action. Justinian accelerated his own demise. He had less power than he realized. He either should have implemented far bloodier purges or not done them at all. His present purges killed too few to bring about a true shock that would have stymied action. Instead, he frightened too many people while still allowing them options.”
Vela had sighed at the too long and too obvious explanation. She no longer needed those.
Benz smiled tiredly as he hoisted himself a little higher up the tower. It had been so different having someone to really talk to. The past three years had been so lonely. Seeing so much farther than anyone else, and not being able to share his insights with anyone…
Benz snorted. Had he taken Vela to the machine because he’d become sick of being alone? It was quite probable.
He shelved further reminiscing so he could devote his will to greater muscular effort. He might be a mental superman, but he was far from being extraordinary physically.
Another eighteen minutes brought him to the twenty-first story. Below him, the snow-covered peaks of the Andes gleamed in the starlight. If he fell, he would plunge more than just the twenty-one stories. He would also plunge down a vertical cliff, one more than half-a-kilometer in depth. He would never survive such a fall. Fortunately, he had no fear of heights.
Panting heavily, feeling the sweat slide under the stealth suit, he brought up his tool pack. He took out a suction cup and attached it to the window. He removed a thin knife. Then, he attached a small box on the ledge.
He turned on the box, which beeped slowly.
With the special knife, he began to cut the glass around the suction cup. The knife cut with unusual ease. The box tricked the sensors as the knife completed the circle. He put away the knife and grabbed the handle attached to the suction cup. With a slight sound of glass sliding, he removed the cut circle from the rest of the window. This he attached to the tower through the back of the suction cup.
He crawled through the new entrance. It was slow and tedious work. Any of a number of things could happen to upset the plan. Even with supreme genius, it was next to impossible to foresee every eventuality.
Finally, Benz’s booted feet touched the study’s carpet. He stood in the room, panting and trembling from the exertion.
Benz wanted to laugh wildly. He’d made it. The hardest part of the assassination mission was past. He never wanted to scale a wall like that again.
Benz shed his mask, tank, tools and stealth suit. He put them in a pile behind the desk. Afterward, he took out a final tool, reached out the hole with a special pole, detached the round pane of glass and maneuvered it back into place. He used a small tube, smearing its clear paste around the circular cut. In seconds, the two parts bonded. It wouldn’t pass a close inspection, but it resealed the tower from the outside.
Benz pulled the curtain across the window. He’d removed the suction cup before sealing the circular piece back onto the window. It lay on top of the pile of clothes, tools and the tank.
The Inspector General of Earth sat down in the desk’s chair. He let his head droop. His arms shook from too much effort. Three minutes later, he hoisted himself to his feet. He took a uniform from his pack, donned it and headed for the door.
It was time to kill Justinian.
***
Benz moved serenely down the halls. He stopped at a guard’s command, showing her his special pass. She slid it through a small unit. It checked. That made her frown. She was incredibly busty and beautiful. Finally, she handed him his ID and indicated that he could continue.
Up here in the secret residence, Justinian only allowed female guards to protect him. They were uniformly busty and long-legged. He bedded them from time to time. Justinian believed the sexual bonding heightened their loyalty.
Benz took the final turn and advanced upon Justinian’s bedroom door. One guard stood before it. His ID would not work with her.
As he approached, Benz took what appeared to be a stick of gum from a breast pocket. He unwrapped the substance as he neared. The guard watched him, with her hand on the butt of her holstered weapon.
Still three feet away from the guard, Benz popped the substance into his mouth. He took a deep breath, held it, and chewed the substance vigorously.
“The Premier is asleep,” the guard whispered. She had failed to re-knot her tie perfectly. She had likely left his bed less than an hour ago.
Benz moved close to the guard, leaned in toward her. That no doubt surprised her, as she tensed. Benz exhaled, allowing his breath to reached her.
She breathed in, and her eyelids fluttered.
Benz twisted his head to the side and spat out the knockout substance. He spit two more times and faced the guard just in time to catch her falling forward.
He hadn’t killed her, but she would remain asleep for a good long time.
Holding her up with one arm, he used his other hand to pull out a tiny box, He pressed a switch. The box beeped twice, and the lock in the door clicked.
Benz pushed the door open, dragging the guard with him. He lay her on the floor, shut the door and took out a pair of goggles. He slid the goggles over his eyes, activating the sensors so he could see in the dark.
He passed furniture, a huge holo unit and opened another door. Justinian snored softly in the big bed. The Premier always fell asleep by this time. He did not have a woman sleeping with him. He never did. Benz believed Justinian did that out of prudence. Justinian wouldn’t trust the woman. She might choke him to death while he slept. Thus, Justinian always slept alone.
Benz stood beside the bed. He drew the needler. His hand shook, and that surprised him. He didn’t want to murder the man. Yet he had to. Everything pointed to it. He’d come this far—
Benz put the nozzle of the needler against the sleeper’s throat and pulled the trigger. The man jerked as needles stitched into his soft flesh. Benz kept his finger down, hosing the needles so blood began to spurt.
The man opened his eyes, staring at Benz in pained shock.
“Good-bye,” Benz said.
The man opened his bloody mouth. He tried to speak, to tell Benz something. It never happened.
Benz exhaled with revulsion. This was a dirty deed. He hated it. But he’d had to do what he’d had t
o do. He would not look at the corpse. He realized it was time to go. Benz didn’t go just yet, though. He kept standing there.
Suddenly, it occurred to Benz that he felt terribly lethargic. He realized more than ever that he should go. Instead, he waited, with his muscles wilting.
At that point, lights blazed on in the chamber.
Benz tried to raise the needler. He found that his arm refused to lift. He crashed down onto his knees. What was wrong with him?
A door opened, and a tall man strode in. The man wore a helmet with a clear visor and a body vest. Female guards followed the tall man into the bedroom.
Benz found it hard to do, but he looked up. He didn’t know that his mouth hung open.
“Inspector General,” Justinian said through a helmet speaker.
Benz frowned thunderously. Had someone pumped invisible knockout gas into the bedroom? Is that why the guards were wearing rebreathers?
“You shot my body-double, Benz,” the Premier said. “You fell for my trap.” Justinian “tsked” several times. “Do you know what happens now?”
Benz kept staring. He could no longer speak.
“After I revive you, Inspector General, I’m going to interrogate you. I’m going to get to the bottom of your tRobertsous conspiracy and stamp it out of existence.”
-7-
The next two days were among the worst in Frank Benz’s existence. He found himself in an awful place. Pain gushed through his body. Indecent tortures stole his dignity. He tried to hold back. He thought his great intellect would give him immunity against whatever Justinian could throw at him, but that proved quite wrong, hurtfully wrong.
Sooner than anyone would have expected, he began to talk.
At that point, the interrogation began in earnest. Special interrogators began to fire one question after another at him. They switched up the manner of the questions and turned them around, asking them in other ways.
Benz understood what they were doing. The interrogators were searching for lies. They found several. The pain began again. Naked before witnesses, Benz howled in agony. He howled and promised to stick to the truth this time.
A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 10