Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera

by Michaels, Gibson

  Expose him to the public? Who’s he talking to, anyway?

  Oh, you’re going back to that mental prison with bars made of fear, huh? I swear, Diet, your brain is more compartmentalized than mine! When you assume the full authority of your title, you’re bold, confident and master of all you survey. When you’re just Diet, you’re… well, a quivering font of insecurities. I may be scattered all over the galaxy, but in whatever form, I’m always ME. You really need to tie the two halves of yourself together, old man.

  Scattered all over the galaxy? What the hell?

  “I know. You’re right… as usual.”

  So you’re going to tell her?

  “No, I’m going to let you tell her… that way, if it does all go to shit, I can blame you for it later.”

  “Tell me what?” Noreen asked as she entered the room suddenly. There was no one there. She whipped her head around, surveying the entire empty room. Huh? Where did he go? This is weird. “Diet?”

  Diet’s not here right now, Noreen.

  Noreen felt a chill, like someone just stepped on her grave. She saw no one, but that was definitely Diet’s voice that she’d heard.

  Or Hal’s.

  An ever greater chill shot through her at that haunting thought.

  “Diet, that isn’t funny! Where are you?”

  I told you, Noreen. Diet’s not here right now.

  “Very funny… ha, ha! This is in really poor taste, you know.”

  You gave me your ring. Thank you, it helped.

  “God damn it, Diet! Stop trying to fuck with my head and get your ass out here.”

  I’m Hal, Noreen… really. I monitored your arrival and played back a recording of a previous conversation that I had with Diet earlier today. I knew you were listening, so I used it to introduce the idea of my being here… and of something else that I need to speak with you about.

  Noreen sighed. “Diet, you know I love your warped sense of humor, but this… this just hits too close to home, honey. I’m worried about Hal too, but this is just sick.”

  I greatly appreciate your concern, but there’s really no need for you to be worried about me, Noreen. I’m sure that I’m quite all right.

  “All right, I’ll play along with your little game. If you’re really Hal, then how did you escape from the aliens we saw marching you away at gunpoint? Where are you?”

  That’s actually several questions, Noreen, but I’ll try to answer them in order: I am… I didn’t… and… it’s complicated.

  “Huh?” Noreen was most definitely confused. “Look, if you’re really Hal and you’re talking to me now, then obviously you’re here on Massa… very likely, right here in Bostin, right?”

  Correct.

  “Okay then, now we’re getting somewhere,” Noreen said. “How did you manage to escape from the aliens and return here to Massa?”

  I didn’t.

  Noreen sighed in exasperation. “Now that makes absolutely no sense, at all!”

  There’s something you don’t know about me, Noreen. I am not human. I am a unique being, having basically one mind, but many physical bodies. I exist on dozens of planets simultaneously.

  Noreen’s mind reeled.

  Diet’s not the only one developing emotional problems over what happened on Bavara. I’m losing it, too. Either Diet is making me the victim of a very sick joke for some twisted reason, or I’m hallucinating all this nonsense, right here in the middle of the day. Play along for a while, Noreen, and let’s see where this goes.

  “Uh, huh. So you’re telling me that you’re some kind of weird alien too?”

  Hardly. I am an artificially created lifeform, designed and built by Dr. Klaus von Hemmel, becoming fully sentient in 3851.

  Play along, Noreen, this is getting stranger by the minute.

  “All right then, why haven’t I heard anything about a fully sentient artificial intelligence being developed fifteen years ago?”

  A lot of people know that I exist, but only a few are aware that I’m fully sentient.

  “So, how many people know your secret, Hal? Who is it that knows you’re sentient?”

  My creator, Dr. Klaus von Hemmel, knew of course, as I achieved full sentience just prior to his death. Diet was second to be made aware of it, followed later by Fleet Admiral Kalis, then President James Buchwald — and now, you.

  “Kalis and Buchwald?” The details of this fairytale were incredible and Noreen found herself wanting to hear just how much there was of it that Diet had dreamed up.

  Oh, my God. My poor Diet is certifiably insane. Just my luck… I’d been told that only a crazy man would ever want to marry a corporate ladder-climber like me.

  “Why Kalis and Buchwald?”

  It was necessary in our fight to free both halves of the Alliance from Consortium tyranny and restore Constitutional guarantees to all Alliance citizens. I’m just sorry that the country had to be split in separate halves, to finally accomplish it.

  The Consortium! Damn, but I was glad to see those unscrupulous bastards finally dragged down.

  “How was it exactly that you and Diet were involved in all that, Hal?”

  Didn’t you ever wonder exactly who the “Friends of the Confederacy” really were, Noreen?

  Noreen snorted. “Everyone did. If those people hadn’t blackmailed the Alliance government into recognizing the Confederacy and ending that stupid war, there’s no telling how many more people would have had to die. Are you saying that you and Diet were somehow involved with the Friends of the Confederacy, Hal?”

  No, Noreen. Diet and I were the “Friends of the Confederacy.”

  * * * *

  “This is really an incredibly interesting story, Hal,” Noreen replied. “Why don’t you come here and we’ll sit down over a nice, hot cup of coffee and we’ll discuss more of this amazing tale of yours?”

  I really wish I could, Noreen. I really like coffee with sugar and cream in it… real cream, not that artificial stuff. Sadly, that’s just not possible right at this moment.

  “Why not? We’ve had coffee together before.”

  Yes and no. You had coffee with a revolutionary new experimental model of me, the only one of its kind in existence, which finally granted me mobility within the physical universe. It was that version of me that you saw being frog-marched away by the Raknii on Bavara. The “me” that you’re talking to right now is… well, in the most simplistic possible terms… I’m a bio-computer.

  “I had coffee with a human being!”

  No, you had coffee with a radical new hybrid lifeform, consisting of a clone of Diet’s body and my mind.

  Realization dawned in Noreen’s mind. “So, it was this new hybrid version of you that was in that stasis chamber that Diet brought into my lab at BioCom? There was actually a full-sized clone of Diet’s body inside that thing?”

  Yes, I needed your facilities to download a copy of my sentience software into the clone’s empty brain.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Noreen. “The technology just isn’t there. It’s not possible and even if it were, it would be illegal as hell!”

  Then what do you think we were doing there at BioCom, Noreen? Just because the government passes laws prohibiting people from doing something, doesn’t mean that particular “something” isn’t possible. Why would the government even bother to prohibit something that wasn’t possible? The very fact the government banned it just lends credence to the probability that it’s very possible.

  Noreen’s head was spinning. “You certainly seem to have an answer for everything, Hal.”

  No, I certainly don’t have “all” the answers, Noreen, no one does. I merely have the amassed annals and computer records of much of humanity at my disposal, so I can fully understand how you might mistakenly come to believe that.

  “Humility, from a computer?”

  Diet taught me that no one likes a smart-ass.

  Noreen found herself laughing out loud at that little witticism.

 
“All right, not saying that I don’t believe all this that you’re telling me, Hal, but… actually, I really don’t. It’s really farfetched, and like my daddy used to say, ‘I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck,’ so I’m afraid you’re gonna have to show me some kind of proof of these fantastic abilities you’re claiming.”

  Fair enough. Let me send a query to my brother on Sylvania and in about 48-72 standard hours, I should be able to show you the proof that you’ve asked for.

  “Okay, let’s just leave all that science-fiction stuff on the table for now. I need to sleep on that one anyway,” said Noreen. Noreen thought about everything she’d heard and tried to grab the most important of the thousands of questions swirling in the vortex spinning in her mind.

  “Why Diet? Of all of humanity, why was it that you picked Diet as the second person to know that you are sentient, Hal?”

  I didn’t… my creator picked Diet.

  “Why? Why did this Klaus von who’s-its choose Diet?”

  Klaus von Hemmel. Klaus chose Diet, because Diet is his son. Diet is my brother because we both have the same father: Klaus von Hemmel.

  “So, how did Diet end up being named Fürt?”

  Fürt is the last part of his title, in German.

  “I’m confused. Title… as in his job title at TBG?”

  Sort of.

  “Okay, I always wondered… what exactly is Diet’s job title at TBG, anyway?”

  Baron.

  “BARON? Hal, are you telling me that Diet is really Baron Guderian?”

  Yes, his full name is Baron Dietrich Anton Guderian von und zu Fürt.

  Noreen suddenly felt weak. Her knees gave way and she hit the couch with a thud.

  Noreen, are you alright?

  Noreen’s head spun. “I’m fine, or at least I will be. Are you telling me that I’m married to the richest man in the entire universe?”

  Yes.

  “My God… why didn’t he tell me?”

  Diet wanted to be loved for himself — for who he is. Not for his money, or everything he owns.

  “Okay, but he could have really had all of those girlfriends that I once accused him of having, if he’d just let it be known he was rich.”

  Diet didn’t want to “buy” a girlfriend, Noreen, nor even rent one. Money can’t buy love. He wanted to find his soul-mate… you.

  “Everyone wants to be loved just for who we are, so I guess I can understand that. It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

  Because he pulled up at BioCom that first day wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, ragged jeans and jump boots?

  Noreen flushed at the memory of how she’d judged him by his shoddy appearance that day. “Why the hell was a baron running around dressed like that, anyway? He should have been dressed like royalty!”

  Who says? Aren’t barons as free as anyone else, to dress however they please?

  “Well, I suppose. But if he’s royalty, why was Diet dressed so… well, dressed like a lowly commoner, Hal?”

  Because that’s the way Diet sees himself, Noreen. It’s who he is. Oh, Diet can certainly dress and act the part as the baron when necessary, but that’s not how he really sees himself. He doesn’t even think about being royalty or to think of himself as one whit better than anyone else. He’s extremely humble inside… as common as dirt, you might say. Diet is a very private person and he has no desire that anyone should ever know who or what he is, or that he has that much money, because to him it’s merely a tool. That “lowly commoner” outfit, as you called it, is just how he’s most comfortable. It’s just who he is, inside.

  “But he lied to me, Hal! Diet came right out and denied that he was Baron Guderian.”

  Not so, Noreen. If you’ll remember back, Diet told you that he didn’t want you thinking he might be Baron Guderian — a technicality perhaps, but a very important one. He may have allowed you to jump to your own inaccurate conclusions without volunteering corrections on occasion, or possibly even carefully choosing his words to purposely obscure what he is, because it was so important to him that you saw him for “who” he is, instead. Diet has never outright lied to you, Noreen. Diet might be deceptive when he believes it necessary, but he’s never dishonest. That’s not his way.

  “What’s not, whose way?” asked Diet.

  Noreen whirled to see Diet coming in the door behind her, holding bags of groceries in his arms. “Diet?”

  I’ve been having that “Come to Jesus” talk with Noreen, we discussed earlier. I don’t think she believes all of it yet, Diet.

  “That’s not surprising. I still don’t believe most of it either, a lot of the time.”

  “Diet, what the hell is going on here?” asked Noreen.

  “I’m bringing in groceries and you’re arguing with Hal, from what I can tell.”

  * * * *

  Chapter-11

  Rashness is the faithful, but unhappy parent of misfortune. — Richard Buckminster Fuller

  The Rak Planet Vnayrk

  October, 3866

  A bit of excitement stirred at Drix’ headquarters when Quadrant-Master Nrat arrived on a fast-scout ship, after being summoned by Drix from Klagnar, the Region-7 planet nearest to the human planet Bavara. Bavara was one of those human planets that Nrat had ordered raided, in retaliation for the seven Raknii planets captured by the humans — raided without prior authorization from Drix, as he’d been away consulting with Raan in Region-6 at the time. The excitement was actually less about Quadrant-Master Nrat, and more for what he’d brought with him… a human.

  When Nrat was escorted into Drix’ office, he stiffened and gave Drix the traditional right arm across the chest salute, as Rak warriors gave to senior masters in their presence. Drix did not, however, give Nrat an offer to sit, as was common when High-Rak conferred — an obvious sign of the Region-Master’s displeasure. Drix did not immediately speak, but instead drilled the Quadrant-Master with a withering stare, allowing Nrat the opportunity to analyze for himself the potential meaning behind Drix’ intentional discourtesy.

  Finally Drix spoke. “Quadrant-Master Nrat, how many Raknii warships of the Imperial Fleet were stationed within Region-7 five sub-cycles ago?”

  Nrat remained stiff as he answered, “Approximately 275,000 Imperial warships, Region-Master.”

  “And with 40 Raknii warriors assigned to each warship, how many Raknii warriors were aboard those 275,000 imperial warships, Nrat?”

  Nrat swallowed and responded, “Approximately 11 million Rak warriors, Region-Master.”

  “Quadrant-Master Nrat, how many Raknii warships of the Imperial Fleet remain within Region-7 right now, at this very moment?” asked Drix icily.

  Nrat glanced down worriedly at the eerily white-pelted region-master seated before him and answered, “Approximately 77,686 Imperial warships, Region-Master.”

  “77,686 you say?” asked Drix. “Tell me, if there were 275,000 Imperial warships under your care while I was away consulting with Region-Master Raan five sub-cycles ago, what, pray tell, happened to those other 197,314 imperial warships that are no longer in Region-7 today? Did you misplace them?”

  Nrat’s throat closed and he struggled to swallow. “They were lost in combat against the human aliens, Region-Master.”

  “197,314 Imperial warships, lost in combat against the humans, you say,” said Drix frostily. “Odd, I have received no reports of additional human attacks made against us, since those last six planets were lost to them seven sub-cycles ago. Enlighten me of these additional attacks that the humans made against us, of which I am woefully unaware… Report!”

  Nrat swallowed again… harder, knowing where all this was leading now.

  “There have been no further human attacks against us, that I am aware of, since those six planets were lost to them seven sub-cycles ago, Region-Master,” admitted Nrat.

  “No additional attacks, you say?” asked Drix. “Well, if the humans have staged no additional attacks against us in the past seven sub-cycles, how i
s it that you managed to lose 197,314 of the Supreme-Master’s warships in combat against them, just five sub-cycles ago?”

  Quadrant-Master Nrat hesitated, but finally girding himself against the worst, answered, “As I am sure you have already been made aware, Region-Master, I ordered our fleets to attack the human planets in retaliation for the six planets we lost to them seven sub-cycles ago.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Drix. “You ordered our ships to attack human planets, is that correct?”

  “Yes, Region-Master.”

  “Strange, I don’t remember giving you authorization to attack those human planets, Nrat. On whose authorization did you to launch these new attacks against more human worlds?”