“I didn’t know it did that,” Gloria said.
Bast showed her various controls. He made adjustments and read the results.
“I’m unsure,” the Sacerdote said at last. “This may indicate an interruption of the flow.”
“What does that even mean?” Gloria asked.
“During a data transfer, these marks here could indicate—I’m unsure. Maybe Gorky or this Eli removed the helmet momentarily during the process.”
“You mean as the data downloaded into the mind?” Gloria asked.
“I suppose.”
“Would that change the nature of the download?” she asked
“Possibly,” Bast said. “I cannot be certain.”
“Well…” Gloria said. “If so, that could explain the difference. If Eli didn’t receive the full Prince…imprint, he would act differently.”
“Yes. That sounds logical.”
“That’s her line,” Jon said, jerking a thumb at Gloria.
Gloria opened her mouth to respond.
The hatch swung open and a guard poked his head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir. But there’s a priority message from the bridge.”
“What is it?” Jon asked.
“It concerns the cyberships, sir,” the guard said. “That’s all I know.”
Jon turned to Bast and Gloria. “Let’s go,” he said. “I have a feeling the AIs are making their first move.”
***
The trio ran to the flitter and Jon took them deeper down the corridor. Soon, they alighted and hurried to the bridge.
The bridge crew straightened as Jon entered the chamber.
“The AIs are launching missiles, sir,” Ghent said.
Jon and Bast hurried to the main screen. Gloria went to her station.
“Let see it, Chief,” Jon told Ghent.
“It’s a long-range shot,” Ghent said. “The cyberships have traveled over five hundred AUs already, but that still means they’re a long ways off.”
Jon waited.
Ghent got the message. He adjusted his panel.
On the main screen, a long-range teleoptic showed the two cyberships. The third hadn’t joined them yet, although it traveled toward a similar destination.
“I’m using computer enhancement,” Ghent said. “That means there is a nine percent chance for error. I still think that gives you a good idea of what’s happening out there.”
Jon nodded, focusing on the lead cybership.
Its gigantic hangar bay doors opened. One by one, huge missiles slid out. The missiles looked different from others he’d seen. They were long, and each had a large bulbous head. The individual missiles maneuvered away from the launching cybership slowly and seemingly deliberately.
“Strange to see these again,” Bast said in a low rumble.
Jon glanced at the giant beside him before refocusing on the enemy. It was strange seeing this, knowing these vessels came from another star system. Although Jon had been dealing with the reality of cyberships for some time, to see this new one gave him the chills. That was an alien vessel. Those were alien missiles.
Finally, one of the big missiles began to accelerate. A long exhaust tail grew behind it. The missile quickly left the cyberships and the other waiting missiles.
“What kind of propulsion am I looking at?” Jon asked.
“Matter/antimatter, sir,” Ghent said.
“Uh-huh. Can you estimate the size of the missile?”
“Four kilometers long, sir.”
Jon looked back at Ghent.
“I’m sure of that,” the chief said.
“Four kilometers is big,” Jon said.
As they watched, another missile began to accelerate.
“Have you estimated their targets?” Jon asked.
“I’ve just finished doing that,” Gloria said, sharply. “You’re watching a recording, by the way. According to the trajectory, the first five missiles are headed for Makemake.”
Jon felt cold in his gut. “Wouldn’t they want to capture Makemake?” he asked no one in particular.
“Clearly not,” Gloria said. “I suspect this shows us their intent. They mean to wipe out everything. I suspect, until they win, it is kill, kill, kill everything human or human built.”
“That was the Sacerdote experience,” Bast said.
“Any missiles heading for Senda?” Jon asked.
“Not that I can tell,” Gloria said.
“What do you think that means concerning your kill theory?”
Gloria thought about it. “Maybe one tiny destroyer is not worth the effort. Yet.”
“Take out the priority targets first,” Jon said quietly. “What else?”
Gloria studied her panel for a time. “Some missiles seem to be headed for the Neptune System.”
Jon swore under his breath.
“None are targeting the Uranus System so far,” Gloria said.
“Of course not,” Jon said. “Uranus is on the other side of the Solar System right now. Is anything heading for Saturn?”
“Twenty-two heavy missiles,” Gloria said.
Jon turned around and walked back to his command chair. He sat down heavily. “Aren’t the AIs going to leave us anything?”
“The cyberships are annihilators,” Bast said. “They are the seekers of destruction. The three have come from the grave to reap the lives of the living.”
“Yeah,” Jon said. He watched the screen as another of the big bastard missiles began to accelerate. “I’d better call Neptune and Saturn to give them the news. It’ll be up to them how they handle the missile attacks.”
“I suspect the various system leaders are going to ask us to stop and help them,” Gloria said.
“That sounds about right.”
“If you do not help, they will never forget you failed to aid them.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” Jon told her.
“I am attempting to help you understand the results so you can make the best decision possible.”
“Sometimes a guard has to stand watch,” Jon said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “Sometimes, an enemy commando sneaks up on a guard and slits his throat. That’s the risk a guard has to take.”
“Neptune and Saturn Systems are not guards.”
“No, but they’re part of the bigger picture,” Jon said. “We knew it was going to be hell facing the cyberships. This isn’t just about our Freedom League. This is about all of us. I’m sure the Solar League systems will take hits before this is over. We have to win the fight. We can’t worry about rebuilding until we survive.”
“This looks to be a long and ugly war,” Gloria said.
“They are the killers,” Bast intoned.
Jon said nothing more. He continued to watch the missiles accelerate. He studied his enemy as his heart burned. Humanity had to win the coming battle or it was all over.
-3-
Jon went to the gym to work out. He practiced in a battlesuit later in the day. He ate heartily and slept the sleep of exhaustion.
The next day shift, he sought out the Centurion. He found the small professional speaking to his lieutenants in the officers’ lounge. The chamber had darker hues to the walls with a wet bar, a snack bar and a long computer screen on one side showing a dark forest of oak trees. At the moment, a wolf padded through its shadows.
The lieutenants had just gone through some simulations as the Centurion evaluated each man. He gave his evaluations before the group.
The meeting ended. Half the lieutenants left. The others remained sitting in the comfortable chairs, sipping drinks and talking about the exercise.
The Centurion came over to where Jon sat in a chair, watching the forest scene. Now a fawn glanced around before kneeling behind dense foliage, no doubt waiting for its mother to return.
“Sir,” the small man said.
Jon looked up at the Centurion. The man stared back at him with the hardest eyes Jon had ever seen. The Centurion seemed expressionless, wit
h a tightknit cap over his bald head. The uniform was perfectly pressed, and the gun in its holster seemed well oiled. After Stark—God rest his soul—the Centurion had been with Colonel Graham the longest.
“Please,” Jon said, indicating a chair.
The Centurion sat across from him.
“How are they doing?” Jon asked.
“Fair.”
Jon sipped his drink. He thought the Centurion seemed wound up.
“Is something the matter?” he finally asked.
“Permission to speak freely, sir.”
Jon’s heart rate went up. He didn’t like that, but the Centurion had that way about him. Jon set down his drink.
“Granted,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re exercising with the men, sir. You could use the refresher course. You were more than a little rusty in the suit.”
“I didn’t think anyone noticed.”
The Centurion’s dark eyes seemed to bore into him. “Everyone noticed, sir.”
“What’s that mean? Please, don’t be shy expressing yourself.”
The Centurion seemed to choose his words. “You’ve transferred your first love, sir. The regiment knows it. They don’t like it. But they live with it.”
“And that means what exactly?”
“You’ve become a ship-man. You’re not the marine you once were.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“No, sir. I’m letting you know the state of the regiment. Maybe I’m letting you know your state, as well.”
“I see.”
“I’m not sure you do. You won the Nathan Graham through hard fighting, through the regiment. You owe the men everything.”
“I’ve never denied that.”
“You’ll hold onto the Nathan Graham the same way. If you lose the regiment, you lose everything, sir.”
“The regiment couldn’t have ripped Saturn System from the Solar League. We needed the cybership to do it.”
“I know.”
“Then, how can you say the regiment is everything?”
“It always comes down to man-to-man fighting in the end. That might not be true right away, but eventually, it is.”
A spark seemed to ignite in Jon’s memories. Colonel Graham used to have an old saying. It went back to before the Space Age. He’d called it: boots on the ground. Graham had told his officers it was the secret to the regiment. Sooner or later, governments needed boots on the ground.
“Boots on the ground,” Jon said.
“You remember.” The Centurion nodded. “If you want to save the cybership and save your position, don’t forget about the marines who gave you the power. Can I give you a piece of advice, sir?”
“I thought that’s what you were doing.”
“Practice more in private. Get back your old skills. Then, come out and practice with the men. They need to see that you know what you’re doing, not fumbling around like a rookie.”
Part of Jon wanted to punch the man. The other part realized the Centurion was right. That was probably why he wanted to punch the smaller man. The truth usually hurt more than meaningless lies.
“Thank you,” Jon said. “I’m going to put that into practice. Was there anything else?”
“As a matter of fact…”
***
Several hours later, Jon was practicing in a battlesuit in an empty part of the ship. He walked, turned, lay down, jumped up and sprinted down a corridor.
He remembered the original fight through the giant vessel. Those had been some harrowing times. He recalled Sergeant Stark—there had been a man’s man. Stark had sacrificed his life for the good of the regiment.
He could have used more men like Stark.
After returning the suit to the armorers, he went to his messaging room. It was time to give his reasons for his actions. He would tell the Neptune System people first and then Kalvin Caracalla of the Saturn System.
He recorded a different message for each person. He would send the messages after Gloria went over them.
By that time, Jon was yawning. He headed for his quarters. It was hard to imagine sometimes that an ex-New London gang member held the future of the human race in his palm. He’d given mankind a chance by defeating the original invasion. He’d had a lot of help along the way. The Centurion was right, but his—
As he walked down a large corridor, Jon heard the whirr of a speeding air-car. He turned around as a flitter took a slight turn, speeding into view. The pilot spotted him, bringing the air-car down as it headed toward him.
Jon felt along his belt. He didn’t have a communicator.
The air-car came down hard, jarring the machine. The flitter actually skidded, screeching as sparks flew everywhere. Finally, the car came to a halt. The pilot didn’t use the door. He vaulted over it.
“Sir!” the pilot shouted. “The mentalist sent me.”
“Catch your breath, son.”
The man saluted. “It’s Premier Benz, Captain. The GSB and SD Party are staging a counter coup against him.”
“What?”
“They’ve declared Benz an imposter who used alien technology to murder the rightful Premier.”
“Are they mad to do this now? What’s happened to Benz?”
“I don’t know more than that, sir. Do you need a lift to the bridge?”
Jon needed two seconds to make up his mind. “Let’s go,” he said.
-4-
INTERLUDE: EARTH
Benz stumbled and almost pitched to the hard floor. His hands were cuffed behind his back. Several black-uniformed GSB shock troops surrounded him.
They marched him down an underground corridor in Prague, Bohemia Sector. He’d been on a routine visit when GSB agents had shot his guards and grabbed him, hustling him to an air-van. It had been a complete surprise. He’d believed himself safe. Every indicator had shown that. He still didn’t understand how he could have failed to see the warning signs. That implied someone with hyper-intelligence secretly working against him in the shadows. The only one he knew with that kind of brainpower was Vela Shaw. But she was his ally, his friend, if not quite his lover yet.
He’d been working on that.
Could she have hidden her vicious nature from him? He didn’t want to believe that.
Benz tripped and almost pitched face-first onto the underground floor once again. Luckily, two of the guards grabbed his arms, keeping him from breaking his nose on the floor.
They hauled him upright, their fingers digging into his flesh.
It struck him afterward. The two had moved with startling speed in order to grab him just now. He mentally went over the gun-battle against his guards. Yes. The GSB agents had moved faster than ordinary then, too.
Why did it take me so long to see it?
“You’ve received bodily modifications,” Benz told the guard chief.
The GSB agent turned to regard him. The man had a lean face with a line for a mouth, hard eyes and dark hair swept to the side. He was either fanatical or psychotic or maybe both.
“What did they do to you to make you so fast?” Benz asked.
“Silence,” the guard chief hissed.
Benz realized the man would make him shut up if he refused to comply. The Premier—Benz refused to accept his demotion to that of a mere prisoner. The Premier studied his guards as they marched him deeper underground.
The men moved with lethal precision. He envied them that. They seemed to have greater physical prowess just as his mind was superior to ordinary people’s. Yes, someone had definitely modified them. He wondered who, and he wondered where this person or group had found or developed the technology to do this. If he could wed the two powers in himself…
The guard chief made a quick hand motion to the others. As one, the guards halted. The chief went to a panel. He pressed several switches.
The entire left wall lifted to reveal a courtroom. It contained seating for spectators, a low barrier, two tables and a large podium. The podium wa
s massive, almost a fortress within the chamber. A tall woman in a black robe sat behind the podium. She had the same lean features as the guards and appeared to be wearing a blonde wig.
The guards pushed Benz down the middle aisle.
Behind them, the wall thudded closed with the finality of death.
The guards marched Benz past the waist-high barrier and to a table. Two of them, with their hands on his shoulders, pushed him down onto a chair. As one, they moved to the side, standing against the wall as court bailiffs.
A door opened in the wall opposite the guards. Silent people began filing into the chamber. Benz noticed that a few seemed subdued. That was interesting. The group moved past the waist-high barrier to the spectator seating. By their outfits and uniforms, they were governors and other Party officials. They took up one side of the seated area. Black uniformed GSB officers filled up the other side. The secret police people seemed more animated but also more tense.
An older white-haired man in a silver suit moved to the second table. He carried a briefcase, setting it on the table. He clicked it open and took out a folder.
“The court is in session,” a loud-voiced woman said. She’d been the last person through the door. “The State is prosecuting Inspector General Frank Benz for high crimes against Premier J.P. Justinian.”
The judge banged her gavel. “Stand up, Mr. Benz.”
Frank struggled to his feet. His hands were still cuffed behind his back.
“How do you plead, Inspector General?” the judge asked.
“Your Honor,” Benz said. “Before we begin, may I have these cuffs removed?”
“You are a prisoner of the State, Inspector General.”
“During the trial, I wish to make notes, Your Honor. I can’t do that with my hands cuffed.”
The black-robed judge stared down at him with intensity. Her features twisted with distaste. “Remove his cuffs,” she said.
The GSB chief guard stepped near, unlocking the cuffs, clattering them onto Benz’s table.
Benz rubbed his wrists. He thought that leaving the cuffs on the table was in decidedly poor taste.
“How do you plead, Inspector General?” the judge asked.
“Not guilty,” he said.
A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 17