The A.I. Gene (The A.I. Series Book 2)
Page 10
“That’s why we came to the Saturn System,” Jon told his assembled war council. “We have to repair the vessel if we’re going to face more cyberships later.”
The Centurion, the Old Man and Sergeant Stark sat on one side of the table. Stark looked like a human gorilla, given his massive shoulders and burly arms. On the other side of the table sat Gloria, Bast Banbeck the Sacerdote and rat-faced Da Vinci.
Bast Banbeck towered over even Sergeant Stark. The green-skinned Sacerdote was huge, his Neanderthal-like face having heavily-ridged brows and wide cheekbones. He was an out-and-out alien. The regiment had found him under a containment field a year ago, as the space marines had battled deeper into the cybership. Bast knew more about the cyberships than anyone else did. He also knew more about the alien technology on the giant warship. His knowledge included the brain-tap machines.
Da Vinci was here because of the echo of the Prince of Ten Worlds in his head. The little Neptunian had his arms behind his back, kept in place by the spring locks. Metal sheaths held his forearms, allowing only his fingers to move.
“Can we destroy the SLN fleet?” the Centurion asked in a crisp voice.
Jon shrugged. “We haven’t tested our weapons systems. I’d bet on us, but we don’t know. A few of our weapons appear to be in working order.” He glanced at Bast Banbeck.
The giant Sacerdote sat there, unmoving.
“The captain’s glance in your direction is the same as if he’d asked you if that is so,” Gloria explained to the Sacerdote.
“This is body language?” Bast asked in his deep voice.
“Correct,” Gloria said.
“Oh, excuse me, Captain,” Bast said. “I did not realize.”
“No problem,” Jon said.
“As to the weapons systems,” Bast said. “Each test shows that they should operate as built. Does that mean they will continue to operate over a period of time? This, I do not know.”
“Don’t forget the missiles,” the Centurion said. “We can launch a blizzard.”
“Human-built missiles,” Jon said. “The enemy can probably launch a blizzard at us, too.”
During their stay in the Neptune System, they had pirated hundreds of missiles unused during the battles. During their voyage to the Saturn System, they had worked out a launching method.
“Use the Trojan horse program,” the Neptunian said in his high-pitched voice. “Disable their fleet at a sweep.”
Jon regarded the little Neptunian. He’d been against letting the mind-altered man into the meeting. Gloria had convinced him otherwise. Da Vinci undoubtedly held vastly unconventional views that could give them a surprise weapon.
“We don’t know how the ‘Trojan horse program’ would work,” Jon said.
The Neptunian’s eyes seemed to glitter. “You know exactly how it would work. You fear it would work too well.”
Jon turned to Gloria. “It was a mistake bringing him here. The thing in Da Vinci is still in league with the octopoids.”
“Shoot him,” the Centurion said flatly. “Until he’s dead, he’s a liability.”
The Neptunian’s head snapped up in alarm.
“Who knows how or if he’ll aid us if we give him a chance,” Gloria said. “He’s desperate. That much is clear.”
Jon rose, went to the hatch and stepped outside. He reentered with two big mercenaries.
“You’re going with them,” Jon told Da Vinci. “It’s back into your cage with you.”
The Neptunian bent his head forward and licked his lips. He looked up again, and his eyes seemed to burn with intensity.
“I have a better plan,” the Neptunian said in his squeaky voice. “I cannot fathom how you cannot see the obvious. Then it comes to me. Have you ruled ten worlds as successfully as I have? No, no, you do not understand the art of ruling as I do. You cannot see that the Saturnians will hate you for whatever destruction the GSB brings. Yes, you can undoubtedly destroy the SLN task force. But can you rule later with the consent of the governed? That takes art. That takes compromise, whether you understand that or not.”
Jon banged a fist on the table.
The Neptunian flinched. Then he snarled, with his wolfish gaze fixed on Jon.
“Are you the Prince of Ten Worlds?” Jon asked.
Da Vinci shuddered like a dog shaking off water. He panted afterward, looking around and cringing.
“Da Vinci,” Jon said.
“What?”
“You were going to tell us about a plan.”
“No I wasn’t.’
Jon stared at the Neptunian. Da Vinci had paid an awful price for his greed. He’d put himself under a brain-tap machine, soaking up memories, no doubt attempting to gain knowledge that could give him power. Instead, he had alien thought-patterns echoing inside his brain. It was a haunting price to pay for a moment’s mistake.
Jon glanced at Gloria.
She stayed focused on the Neptunian, watching him while her lips were twisted with distaste.
“Take him,” Jon told the guards.
Each man reached down, taking hold of one of the Neptunian’s arms.
“No!” Da Vinci howled. “I hate it in there. He whispers to me. He has plans, ideas, nefarious goals. He’s going to win. He’s going to make me do awful things. I don’t want him in my head anymore. Can’t someone help me?”
“I can,” the Centurion said with loathing. The small man stood, causing his chair to scrape back. In a fluid motion, he drew a stitch-gun.
“Wait,” Jon said.
The Centurion froze like a vengeful statue.
“We can ‘help’ you,” Jon said. “Do you want that kind of help?”
Da Vinci shook his head back and forth. “Don’t kill me, Captain. I helped you before. You wouldn’t have the cybership without me. You owe me, Captain.”
“I pay my debts,” Jon said.
“Then help me. Cure me. Get those thoughts out of my head.”
“I don’t know how,” Jon said. He hated the helpless feeling. He’d gladly help Da Vinci. He did owe the man, and Jon did pay back as fully as he could.
“You have to let us speak to the prince one more time,” Gloria said in an emotionless voice.
“I don’t want to,” Da Vinci whined.
“The only way to cure you is for us to win,” Gloria said. “Then we’ll have the luxury of studying the cybership, studying and experimenting with the brain-tap machines. Until then, we don’t dare risk using them again.”
Da Vinci moaned pitifully. Then he began to shiver—the little thief looked at Jon slyly. He chuckled. It had a grating quality.
“This is an interesting quandary,” the Neptunian said in a confident manner. “I help you. You win. You seek a way to eliminate me. How is that good for me?”
The Prince of Ten Worlds looked around the table through Da Vinci’s eyes.
The little Neptunian chuckled again. “Never mind. I know your answers. The Centurion promises me oblivion. Enough! I have my own reasons for this. Captain, the solution seems so simple that I’m surprised you need me. All that means, though, is that I understand the art of ruling, of dealing with nuisances far better than any of you do. Offer the fleet admiral her life and the life of her task force.”
“They’re our enemies,” Jon said.
“Of course they are,” the Neptunian said with a superior smile. “But that doesn’t matter, not really. Your best solution is to liberate the Saturn System without a shot fired in anger. The people here will hail you as the great liberator then. They will fall all over themselves in the initial rush of gratitude for freeing them from their oppressors. You can bring the cybership to a space dock. The great repairs can take place. You can recruit more mercenaries, and you can recruit techs and maintenance people. Even better, you do not have to test the badly damaged cybership in battle. You will not risk a defeat this way.”
The Neptunian raised an admonitory finger. “Remember. There is always the risk of losing a battle.”
“Does that matter?” the Neptunian asked. “Repaired, the cybership can obliterate the combined fleets of the Solar League. You need the space dock. You need helpful and willing people.”
“The Solar League will leave hidden assassins and provokers behind,” Gloria said.
“Obviously,” the Neptunian said. “Thus, you will need a clever intelligence service to root them out. Ruling isn’t easy. That’s what your captain has proposed, you know. He must rule in order to repair his prize. Have you developed an intelligence service? Recognizing your friends from your hidden foes is incredibly important and often equally difficult.”
Jon banged the table a second time. The Neptunian’s speech had unlocked an old saying the colonel had told him in the past. Jon now spoke the ancient saying aloud:
“To fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking your enemy’s resistance without fighting.”
“Yes, yes,” the Neptunian said. “One of the dogs barks with wisdom. This is gratifying if amazing. The captain understands my words.”
“That’s a saying,” Jon told the others. “A philosopher named Sun Tzu wrote a treatise called, ‘The Art of War.’”
“Sun Tzu…” Gloria said. “I’ve heard of him. He was an ancient Chinese scholar.”
“Breaking your enemy’s resistance without fighting,” Jon said quietly. “That’s an interesting thought. I’ve been waiting to demolish the task force for months. Now, I see that’s the second best solution.”
Jon motioned to the guards.
The Neptunian laughed crudely.
“Just a minute,” Jon said.
The guards paused, holding the small Neptunian between them.
“I’ll come and visit you later,” Jon told the Neptunian. “I’ll visit so we can talk. I want to show you my gratitude for your advice.”
“Words,” the Neptunian said.
“True enough,” Jon said. “But I’m going to come just the same.” He nodded.
The guards removed Da Vinci from the war council, the hatch banging shut behind them.
“It’s a fine idea,” Gloria said. “But there’s a problem with it.”
“Exactly,” Jon said. “How do we implement the idea?” He rubbed his hands together, glancing around the table. “Anyone have an idea…?”
-5-
Three Troika-class battleships left the protection of the P-Field. They were oval-shaped with reinforced armor plates welded to the original hull. The large SLN vessels accelerated, heading toward the general area the Nathan Graham decelerated to reach.
An aide-de-camp had woken Jon. He now entered the bridge, looking up at the main screen.
“Has the fleet admiral contacted us yet?” Jon asked.
“No,” Gloria said.
“Have they given any indication why they’re doing this?” he asked.
Gloria shook her head.
“Any suggestions as to their motive?” he asked.
“I have debated the possibilities ever since your aide-de-camp hurried to your quarters,” Gloria said. “I have two possibilities—two most reasonable answers.”
Jon indicated for her to continue speaking.
“The most obvious is to get in as close as they can,” Gloria said. “If I were them, knowing what I know, I would attempt to gain nearness before launching hordes of small assault boats at us.”
“Try to do to us what we did to the brain core a year ago?” asked Jon.
“Correct.”
“And the second possibility?” he asked.
“A test of your resolve,” Gloria said. “The fleet admiral threatened you with New London’s destruction. Well, it’s possible the First Director of the Saturn System wishes to know if the threat works or not. He may well have received instructions from Earth.”
Jon rubbed his jaw as he studied the main screen. “I can think of another reason. They want to see if we have weapons. Then they want to see what kind of weapons we have. This is a test on multiple levels. However, it will then test them. Will they go through with New London’s destruction?”
Jon abruptly turned away from the screen. He stared past Gloria. This was a huge decision. Was he damning his old friends to death with this?
“We should warn them first if we’re going to fire,” Gloria said.
Jon glanced at her before looking away. He recalled something an older gang-member had told him once. His name had been Raisin, an oddly wrinkled-faced youth. Raisin had long arms and scarred fists. He liked using knucklebusters in a fight. Few people cared to tangle with Raisin. He’d had an ugly reputation as a vicious fighter.
“When they force you to fight,” Raisin had told Jon, “you don’t want to seem reluctant. You want to seem eager. Attack. Do it fast, too, like you love this sort of thing. That way when it’s over others will think twice before messing with you again.”
“Fleet Admiral Chang is messing with me,” Jon said.
“Pardon?” Gloria asked.
“She’s pushing me,” Jon added. “She wants to force the issue.” He intertwined his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. Sliding his fingers free, he flexed them. Afterward, he faced the main screen.
“What did Bast call the golden beam again?” he asked.
“A gravitational cannon,” Gloria replied.
“Chief,” Jon said.
The new chief tech waited. He was a lanky buck-toothed man who always wore a gold cross on a chain around his neck. A member of the Church of Jesus Christ Spaceman, he was a studious tech, one of the hardest workers on the warship.
“Activate the most forward grav cannon,” Jon said.
“Yes, sir,” the chief said.
“Captain,” Gloria said. “Would you like me to hail the enemy battleships?”
“No.”
“May I address the situation, sir?”
Jon glanced back at her. “I’m going to destroy them. I’m not going to give the fleet admiral a chance to threaten me again. I’m going to let them deal with the facts. Better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission.”
“That doesn’t actually hold with the present situation,” Gloria said.
“The spirit of the idea does,” Jon said.
“Sir—”
“That will be all,” Jon said. He no longer looked back at her. He didn’t want to see her fume. He wanted her to obey his orders.
The colonel had taught him that lesson a long time ago. It was fine to give your officers permission to air their objections. Afterward, they had to fall into line. If they didn’t, his people would question everything he did whenever they felt like it. Over time, that led to disrespect. A good commander needed his people’s respect.
“Captain,” Gloria said.
Jon turned, regarding her with fire in his eyes.
“I’m asking you to listen to my reasons,” she said.
“You’re relieved of duty,” Jon said, “and confined to quarters. I’ll speak with you later.”
She hesitated for too long.
Jon turned to a guard, one of the constant reminders that they always had to watch for hiding octopoids.
“I’ll be in my quarters, Captain,” Gloria said. Without further ado, she departed.
Jon did not watch her leave. He pointed at another tech to take her vacated station. Then he regarded the three battleships again.
“The grav cannon is operational, sir,” the chief said.
“Target the lead battleship.”
A few second passed. “Done, sir,” the chief said.
“Fire.”
Outside on the hull of Warship Nathan Graham, a large radar-like dish aimed at the first battleship. Immediately, a golden ball of gravitational energy began to build in the dish. The golden ball soon crackled with the alien-designed energy. All at once, a golden beam flashed from the di
sh. It moved at the speed of light, crossing over two million kilometers.
That was much farther than any SLN beam-weapon could reach.
The golden ray reached out, striking the hull of the oncoming battleship. The beam chewed away at the armor plate, piercing it in seconds. It struck the regular armor underneath. Parts glowed red, shedding wobbling globules. Then, the ray burst through. It sliced into and through the ablative foam underneath, and smashed into the interior battleship.
The destructive energy boiled away at a hundred systems, exploding, burning, vaporizing—hundreds of crewmembers perished. At that point, the ray pierced the heart of the battleship, the nuclear reactors. Often, this caused a thermonuclear explosion. That did not occur now. The engine melted down, discharging massive doses of radiation throughout the interior of the ship.
“Battleship systems are shutting down over there,” a sensor tech said. “I don’t think it’s going to ignite, sir.”
Jon ingested the news. “Target the next battleship.”
“Sir,” the man who had taken Gloria’s place said. “The fleet admiral is hailing us.”
“Ignore her,” Jon said.
“The two battleships are powering up their lasers, sir,” the sensor tech reported.
“Weapons,” Jon said.
“I have acquired the next target, sir,” the chief said. “I will begin firing…now.”
A new golden ball of gravitational power grew in strength. Then it, too, flashed across the distance. Like the previous golden beam, this one broke through the enemy armor in record time and flowed into the interior. It smashed into the engine area, and reactors exploded. The vicious blast blew munitions on missiles and in mines, and it blasted coils, battery storage units, and processors and various other equipment.
The blast rocked the Troika-class battleship. It shed welded-on armor plates. It rocked again, and a giant crack appeared in the middle of the vessel. In seeming slow motion, the one-kilometer battleship broke apart. Masses of vapor and water spilled out of it like a broken egg. People, hundreds of suit-less people, tumbled out of the crack. They died in minutes, if they were not already dead by this time.