The AI War

by Stephen Ames Berry

  After a long moment, she called the bridge.

  “There’s a shuttle headed for the slaver,” said Toral.

  Detrelna’s head jerked up, looking at the screen. The silver craft was a quarter of the way out, heading for the darkened mass of Alpha Prime.

  “Tal is on hangar deck,” reported Lakan. “The deck crew is dead. Lieutenant Commander Telan appears to have slaughtered them and stolen a shuttle. Harrison infiltrated the shuttle. His condition’s unknown.”

  “Slaughtered?’ said Detrelna.

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Advise Captain Lawrona. And respond a medical team to hangar deck.”

  “Do you want Gunnery to…” began Kiroda.

  “No,” said Detrelna, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t want to excite the mindslaver. But I’ll bet you a month’s pay, Mr. Kiroda, that ghastly relic isn’t through with us.” He stared at the mindslaver and the shuttle then touched the commlink. “Natrol. Detrelna. What’s shield status?”

  The engineer’s worried face filled the pickup. “Status zero,” he said. “No shield. Five major components are fused lumps. Some of the grid links are ash—never seen anything like it. And the hullside relay clusters—”

  “How long?”

  Natrol shrugged. “Two days.”

  “You have the balance of this watch, Engineer.” He silenced the other’s protest with an upraised forefinger. “Maybe. Once whatever is about to happen on Alpha Prime happens, Natrol, that monster’s coming for us. Work on that shield as if all our lives depended on it. They do.”

  Detrelna switched to the complink. “Computer. I want everything you have on tactical operations against mindslavers by non-symbiotechnic vessels—priority one being Laal-class cruisers, if any. Send the report to my commslate.”

  Waiting, the commodore sat brooding, eyes on the shuttle. Even at highest magnification, it was almost lost against the mindslaver.

  Ragal’s face appeared on the commlink. “The news about Harrison and Telan is all over your tactical network. What are you doing about it?”

  Detrelna glared at the screen. “Nothing, Colonel. There couldn’t be a better person on that shuttle if we’d run through the whole Fleet order of battle—except maybe Zahava Tal. Both were covert operations specialists on Terra. One or both of them always fought beside us, almost from the moment we entered the Terran system.”

  “Then your pet Terrans could be Scotar, Detrelna.”

  “Ragal, I haven’t time for your paranoia. Vanish.”

  Detrelna’s commslate chirped. He read it for a long time. Finishing, he saw the shuttle was gone.

  “She’s inside the slaver, Commodore,” reported Kiroda.

  Nodding, Detrelna touched the commlink. “Hanar, have you secured hangar deck?”

  “Not much to secure.” The captain stepped back, letting the wall pickup scan the deck. Blue-uniformed medtechs were wheeling away eight green-shrouded carts. “Just us, Zahava, and the dead down here, Jaquel. Whatever Telan is, he’s a very efficient killer.”

  “There’s a sardonic wit behind this, Hanar—Our Alien Artifacts Officer is an alien.”

  “What now?”

  “Meet me at the lift, outside Armory One. Alone. We’re going to see a special friend.”

  The captain’s eyes widened. “Your little souvenir?”

  Detrelna nodded.

  “You set that thing going, Jaquel…”

  “There’s no other way, Hanar.”

  Chapter 5

  The shuttle had an aft storage compartment, accessed from either the passenger section or from outside through a hatchway. John hid there in the dark, pressed against the bulkhead, waiting for whatever had just exterminated ten crew to leave the pilot’s cabin. He was going to wait until Telan had passed by, then empty the M11A’s chargpak into that perfect body, holding the trigger back until the reload chimed.

  The pitch of the engines changed, climbing an octave. Must be almost to the slaver by now, thought John.

  From below came the faint whine of landing struts deploying, then silence as the shuttle landed and the n-gravs died. The Terran drew his blaster and waited, a hand on the door switch.

  Hurried footsteps followed the distant hiss of a door opening. The footsteps stopped in front of the storage area.

  John clicked off the safety and leveled his weapon at whatever was beyond the thin slab of steel.

  There was a faint click, then the whir of the passenger airlock cycling open. John counted to three, pressed the door switch and stepped squinting into the harsh light, his finger curled around the trigger.

  The shuttle and the ramp were empty.

  He had a glimpse of the darkness beyond the circle of light thrown by the shuttle, then Telan’s voice spoke softly from behind. “Put it down, Harrison.”

  “Not following the antics on the bridge?”

  Zahava looked up from her untouched food. A short, wiry-framed officer stood beside her table, wearing brown combat dress with unfamiliar insignia.

  “Do I know you?” she said, pushing her tray away. With the ship on full alert, the officers’ mess was deserted.

  “Colonel Ragal, Fleet Counterintelligence Command. May I?”

  The Israeli shrugged.

  Ragal took a chair opposite her. “Sorry about Harrison.”

  She looked up, startled. “What do you mean? There’s news?”

  Ragal shook his head. “No. I meant about his being… off ship.”

  “He’ll be back,” she said, lifting her t’ata cup. “Word is you’re a Scotar hunter.”

  “One in need of some help,” he said, smiling ruefully.

  “If you’re looking for Guan-Sharick, we’ve seen him,” she said, telling Ragal of the meeting in the observation dome.

  “Odd,” said Ragal. “That’s the second time the bug’s warned us. The first was about the Scotar fallback point on Terra Two.”

  “I wasn’t in on that,” said Zahava. “How’d you know Guan-Sharick was on board?” she added.

  The colonel made a V with each hand. “Two and two,” he said, crossing the V’s. “According to ship’s roster, a dead man came back from the Lake of Dreams battle—one Corporal Silgat. He was killed in an assault and cremated with the rest of the dead, there on your moon. And yet,” he held up a finger, “this same corporal was later seen on Vigilant, disembarking with the rest of the commandos. Seen there, but never again. Then, during the Terra Two affair, Guan-Sharick was flitting about. Checking the times of his appearances against Implacable’s positions, we found that this ship,” he waved a hand, “was always within easy transport range for a Scotar transmute.”

  “Circumstantial,” she shrugged.

  “He only showed up when her shield was down,” said Ragal, unruffled. “Over a ninety percent correlation.”

  “I see,” said Zahava. “It’s compelling.”

  “So we thought.”

  “Now what?” she asked, sipping her t’ata.

  “We find him.”

  “You’re crazy, Colonel,” she said pleasantly. “Fifty miles of corridors, hundreds of compartments, passageways. Plus Guan-Sharick’s got a device that fools your Scotar detectors.”

  “I’m a Watcher,” said Ragal.

  “And what do you watch?”

  The Kronarin laughed. “It’s a stupid title. Some of us have this gift.” He tapped his head. “We can detect a transmute.”

  “Like that?” she said.

  “Usually. That damned device Guan-Sharick’s wearing though…” He shook his head. “I can tell where he’s been, but not where he is. It’s maddening.”

  “But there’s trail?”

  “Nothing consistent, though. However…”

  “Yes?”

  “There’re some very strong traces in the lifepod section. And I was thinking perhaps…”

  Zahava grinned. “You were thinking, Colonel, that with everyone at battle stations but us, now would be a fine time to check out
the lifepods.”

  The Kronarin grinned back. “If you want to.”

  Zahava stood. “What are we looking for?”

  Ragal led the way past the food machines and into the corridor. “Anything out of place. It’s the least visited part of the ship. If I had something to hide, I’d hide it there.”

  Waiting for the lift, he pointed to her holstered M11A. “I hope you can use that.”

  The lift arrived with a loud ping.

  “Let’s hope I get a chance to show you,” she said as they boarded.

  The doors hissed shut on the empty gray corridor.

  “You could be brainwiped for this, Jaquel!” Lawrona’s voice echoed down the passageway.

  “I will be if you keep announcing it, Hanar.”

  The two rounded the corner. In the distance, at the end of the corridor, a squad of black-uniformed commandos guarded a closed door.

  “Sorry,” said the captain as they walked. “But if FleetOps finds you’ve been hiding a stolen slaver computer on board…”

  “A rediscovered slaver computer,” said the commodore.

  “The distinction won’t impress a tribunal. You took the thing off Tanil’s Revenge, on Terra’s moon,” said Lawrona softly. “Fine. But then you hid it here,” he nodded toward the door, “and told no one. That’s illegal. Now you plan to activate it, and that’s criminal. FleetOps is going to order profound reprogramming of your gray matter.”

  “We’re hanging by our fingernails on the edge of forever,” said Detrelna. “FleetOps isn’t.”

  Ten rifles snapped to the salute as the two approached, Detrelna sketching a salute. “Where’s Lieutenant Satil?” he asked the NCO blocking the door.

  “Dispensary, sir,” said the sergeant.

  Detrelna frowned. “Odd. She’s never sick.”

  “You going to let us in, Sergeant?” said Lawrona.

  “That’s up to the computer, sir.” The woman pointed to the security terminal set in the wall.

  “Jaquel?” said the captain, deferring to his senior.

  “Of course,” sided Detrelna. He thumbed the red tab. “Detrelna, Jaquel, Commodore.”

  “And Lawrona, Hanar, Captain,” said the margrave over Detrelna’s shoulder.

  The sergeant moved aside as the door opened.

  Stepping through the doorway, commodore and captain entered a wide, high-ceilinged room. Walking quickly, they passed rows of racked blasters, light artillery pieces, stacked crates of ordnance, then through a second guarded door and a final security check.

  “All right, Jaquel,” said Lawrona as the door slid shut behind them. “Show me.”

  It was a small room, its walls the same uniform gray as elsewhere—except for the wall to their left, which was white with small hexagonal niches. Sealed behind armorglass in each of the ten lighted niches gleamed a conical silver warhead. Large red lettering blazed above the warheads—lettering repeated in deathless blue flame etched into each plate of glass:

  DEATHWARNING! DEATHWARNING!

  M018.G-PLANETARY-DESTRUCT WARHEAD!

  ANY ATTEMPT TO ACCESS WARHEAD

  WITHOUT FLEET-ISSUED BATTLECODE

  WILL DETONATE WARHEAD!

  DEATHWARNING! DEATHWARNING!

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” said Detrelna. Before Lawrona could move, he’d covered the distance to the first niche and slid the glass aside.

  “Jaquel!” said the captain, aghast as Detrelna removed the warhead and began casually unscrewing it.

  “When Fleet found Implacable and pulled her out of stasis,” said the commodore, “she had only nine of those warheads. The first little baby here was gone from its crèche. I appropriated the space.”

  Lawrona had recovered, moving to Detrelna’s side. “You created a dummy warhead as a hiding place.”

  “I’ve often wondered,” said Detrelna, handing the captain the top of the hollow cone, “what poor rebel planet the Empire snuffed with it.”

  “We might also speculate on the nature of a culture that has ‘deathwarning’ as a compound noun,” said Lawrona, glancing at the red letters, “and went through eighteen generations of planet snuffers. “That’s it?” he asked as Detrelna held up a small golden egg.

  “That’s it,” nodded the commodore. He handed the other half of the fake warhead to Lawrona. “Would you replace this, please?”

  By the time the captain had reassembled the casing and restored it to its niche, Detrelna had set the egg on the deck and drawn his blaster.

  “What now?” said Lawrona.

  “Now,” said Detrelna, twisting the M11A’s muzzle to lowest power, “little egg grows up.” He aimed two-handed at the spheroid.

  Lawrona held up a hand. “Wait, Jaquel. We’d better record this. Just in case.”

  “In case what?” asked the commodore, lowering his weapon. “It eats us?”

  “As I recall,” said the captain, walking to the wall complink, “this unit’s predecessor wanted your brain for use in some demented fantasy.” He punched the On tab as Detrelna grunted.

  “Computer. Captain.”

  “Yes, Captain?” came the asexual contralto.

  “Full scan of special vault, Armory One, commencing now. Record to auxiliary log only, and restrict access to Commodore Detrelna and or I.”

  “Illegal command,” said the computer. “Fleet regulations require all log entries be part of ship’s primary records, with exception of certain special situations. These situations are…”

  Detrelna glared at the complink as the machine prattled on. “I hate self-righteous machinery.” He raised his blaster.

  “Jaquel!” said Lawrona “Computer, implement command as given, per Green Seven Nine, authenticator Silver Prime.”

  “Implemented, my Lord,” it said in a new, brisk baritone.

  Detrelna stared at the complink, then turned to Lawrona. “Generic override?” he guessed.

  “Imperial,” said Lawrona. “Seventh Dynasty—about the time they built this old hulk.” The two turned back to the little egg.

  “Something the margravate keeps to itself?” asked Detrelna.

  “And uses sparingly. Don’t use it, Jaquel. It wreaks havoc with the programming overlay—taps those ancient old Imperial systems.”

  “Never,” swore Detrelna. Sighting again on the egg, he pulled the trigger, bathing the spheroid in a soft red light. As the blaster continued shrilling, the egg began to glow—a golden shimmering that grew brighter as the spheroid began to swell. The two men stepped back as the slaver computer grew to fill the space in front of the warheads.

  The golden shimmering dimmed, then vanished. The commodore ceased firing and holstered his weapon. The egg lay across the deck, inert.

  “That should have done it,” said Detrelna, frowning. “According to ship’s archives, you just feed it a steady, low grade dose of energy.” He shook his head. “We better get back to the bridge.”

  “And do what?” asked Lawrona. “Lead the crew in prayer? No.” He nodded toward the slaver machine. “There’s must be a simple activation command, common to the era.” He stood staring at the golden orb, fingers softly drumming his holster.

  “I’m going,” said Detrelna, stepping toward the door.

  “Wait,” said Lawrona, eyes never leaving the egg. “I’m thinking.”

  “Think faster,” said the commodore, halting reluctantly. “We’re about to be chopped and processed by that spaceborne abattoir.”

  “Tanil was one of the most expansionist emperors ever,” said Lawrona. “And this,” he pointed at the egg, “a vital component of his premier war machine. If it came out of the Fleet Fabrication Center on Doro, there’d be a generic activation command.”

  “Hanar…”

  The captain walked over to where the machine lay. “Computer,” he said, looking down at it, “Empire and Destiny!”

  Silently, the egg righted itself and rose, hovering just above the deck. “Empire and Destiny!” it said in a perfect tenor. “How may
I serve?”

  Detrelna slapped Lawrona on the back. “Well done, Hanar!”

  “Tanil’s battle cry, Jaquel,” said the captain. “And the motto of all successive emperors.”

  “It should have been Empire and Blood,” said the commodore. “Identify,” he said to the machine.

  “Symbiotechnic Control Unit 7438 Replicant,” said the machine. “Assigned symbiotechnic dreadnought Tanil’s Revenge.”

  “Computer,” said Detrelna, “we need—”

  “I am addressed as either 7438R, or as Egg,” said the machine.

  Detrelna closed his eyes as if in pain, then opened them. “Egg,” he said carefully, “we are in need of tactical data. How would a Laal-class cruiser defeat a mindsla…a symbiotechnic dreadnought?”

  “I’m not familiar with the designation ‘Laal,’” said the Egg.

  “You’re on such a vessel now,” said Lawrona.

  “Then I must have access to this ship’s central computer,” said the machine.

  Captain and commodore exchanged glances. “We’ve nothing to lose,” said Lawrona.

  “Very well, Egg,” said Detrelna. “Access ship’s computer through the commpanel beside the door. If you need to exchange protocols, we can—”

  Stylus-thin, a beam of soft green light shot from the top of the spheroid to the commpanel. The connection lasted only an instant, then the beam snapped off. “This Laal-class cruiser is almost identical to Shtul-class cruisers of the Syal dynasty. If you wish to know how it can defeat the mindslaver now confronting it…”

  “Yes?” said the two officers.

  “It cannot. Your tactical situation is hopeless.”

  “For this I left the bridge?” said Detrelna, drawing his blaster.

  “However,” said Egg as the commodore twisted the muzzle back to combat setting.

  “What?” said Detrelna.

  “In theory, two warships of this approximate class have a slight chance against a dreadnought—that is Alpha Prime out there?”

  “Yes,” said Lawrona.

  “Good. She was the first of her class, without the advanced weapons systems of later ships. With myself coordinating an attack, your ships…”