The conversation was brief and personal. Unsure how to respond, Ayumi merely nodded and smiled. Connections whispered at her sensors, the hotel’s intricate network pinging the loudest. Interface instructions raced through her neural connections and into her mind, and she connected immediately. The breadth of the secure network astounded her, and the private, guest-only bandwidth would be more than enough to gather the last pieces of her batch file.
What about Kieran’s?
She’d pulled her copy of the locked and encrypted file, alone in its memory cradle on the prelate’s personal server. Containing every shred of data from the moment Kieran achieved awareness to the moment he died from cerebral overload, it had information she thought she would never need. Beyond that, it kept Kieran close to her in a way she initially categorized as companionship and recognized more and more as nostalgia or grief. There was a 10 percent chance that opening the file would incapacitate her central processor, which, without the benefit of Amy’s consciousness, would kill her.
As she moved through the lobby to the elevator, Ayumi decided she would risk opening Kieran’s batch file, and she started the download. Her legs wobbled slightly, and she adjusted her balance while her processors opened the files as slowly as they could to compartmentalize the data effectively. The successful process took only a few seconds, but the data would take additional hours of analysis. Flushed and euphoric with the effort, she took a deep breath and smiled slightly at her reflection in the polished-brass surface of the elevator’s doors. She had the time, for now. In the elevator, she selected the fourteenth floor and felt the optical scanner confirm her identity for the concierge floor. The feeling of a slight additional G load on her body brought a new flood of data. Ayumi closed her eyes and relished the slight feeling of disorientation before the body returned to stasis.
Her room was opulent and comfortable. A king-sized bed dominated one wall of the room, and a chair with reading lamp sat in one corner. Drawers and entertainment-center items were hidden behind a massive armoire. The granite-enhanced bathroom facilities beckoned to her for a long shower, but the rumbling of her new stomach required attention. Leaving the room with a last, reluctant glance at the shower facilities, Ayumi made her way to the private bar on her floor. Four other patrons were there, none sitting with each other. Sliding onto a barstool, she caught the eye of the bartender, who smiled at her.
“What are you having tonight, Miss Nakamura?”
The instant recognition again shot adrenaline into her system. Her body was not as prepared as her mind now was. The discord between them would have to be addressed by developing careful, predetermined responses. She’d have to plan for every eventuality.
Ayumi smiled. “What’s good?”
The bartender looked up and to his left as if considering a mental menu. “I have the best premium liquors in the world, most of the best wines, and a collection of beer that will astound you. What do you like?”
She thought of Kieran bellying up to the bar that first night. That is the correct expression, right?
With a chuckle, she said, “I’ll have a Tooheys.”
“Interesting choice,” the bartender said with a raised eyebrow and a smile she classified as cute.
In a fit of terror, she avoided looking at his eyes or his smiling face.
“It’s not something many people have heard of over here. You must have been to Australia recently.”
She did the math, still looking into the mirror at the back of the bar. “A year or so ago.”
“Is it as beautiful as people tell me?”
The inflection was genuine, but Ayumi wondered how she should answer the question. It took five brutal seconds of consideration.
“Most places, yes. Especially away from the big cities.” She reached for the cold bottle, anticipated the rush of sensation from her hand, and raised it to her lips. All of the data from moving, thinking, and speaking paled in comparison to what happened when the beer hit her tongue. The bubbling, sudsy action nearly caused her skin to ripple in excitement. She swallowed the beer and processed the taste, deciding that she liked it. She grinned. “Perfect.”
“Can I get something from the kitchen for you?”
She nodded. “I heard the prime rib special is amazing.”
He smiled. “They weren’t lying. I’ll get one started for you. My name is Todd, if you need anything.” The bartender smiled and moved away.
Ayumi surveyed the bar and idly watched a soccer match until her food arrived. The concept of sport eluded her, but it did give her prediction capabilities a workout as the scene constantly changed. The mental agility felt good, and watching the sweating women running and tackling made her legs ache for release.
Didn’t Kieran run his first morning away from the Integration Center? After a night much like this?
Ayumi Nakamura, both a woman and a computer program, let the evening spin around her, eventually having a conversation with Todd about Sydney and its sights. A little after midnight, her stomach full of amazing food and drink, she made it to her room and bypassed the shower. With a careful adjustment of her body chemistry, she would process the alcohol away from her system and maximize her sleep to cure the soreness from the genetic therapies. In the morning, she would indeed go for a run and maybe find some new clothes.
Maybe she would even find a weapon. In the darkness, as her body secreted melatonin and prepared to sleep, she lay looking up at the ceiling. Kieran would not approve of her finding a weapon, but she had to know why they’d killed him. Brooks might know, being the last man to see Kieran alive, or he might give information about who really was in charge. Searching Bennett and her previous alias had proven fruitless. The bitch resigned from Cambridge and had not been seen for more than six months. She was on extended sabbatical, the last article said, continuing research into nanometer laser transmissions—the very thing that had killed Kieran and nearly interrupted Mally’s original upload to Luna. Ten more seconds, and both Kieran and she would have lived on. Ten more seconds. Anger coursed through her blood. Fists balled around handfuls of sheets, Ayumi fought to control her breathing and find rest. A running search program of Terran Defense Force servers pinged a special program known as Livermore. The data suggested the program operated out of several countries and territories. However, it centered on Sydney and was under the control of Major General Adam Crawley.
The pathway was blocked, and further searching would call unnecessary attention to herself. She considered the coincidence that Sydney was the location for a special TDF program. Australia was the only continent on Earth where alien life-forms were explicitly banned—a human zone. Waking a walkabout subject there made sense since a sleeper waking up surrounded by alien life forms wasn’t a situation that would end well. Kieran had figured out a way to get answers by going home.
It’s time to retrace his footsteps.
Ayumi decided to go back to Mountain Home. She’d ask Brooks questions and demand answers. What he told her—and what he was trying to protect—would determine her next move. Returning to Australia seemed the next logical step, but she forced herself to stop calculating and focus on what her body and its instincts said.
She felt a tightness in her stomach. A gut feeling, she realized. The uneasiness changed her anger to anxiety, and the only way to combat that was to determine her courses of action to possible outcomes. Her heartbeat settled down to sixty-two beats per minute, and her breathing stabilized. Ayumi relaxed and let her mind wander over the plan.
She would leave for the Franklin Preserve in thirty hours, give or take a few minutes. When she landed, everything she needed had to be on her and ready to go. Kieran had taught her that during his preparations for walkabout. Take only what you need, and if you don’t think you need it, you probably don’t. Pursuing the answers she desperately wanted would leave her no choice. Of course, all she currently owned were the cloth
es on her back, and they did not fit so well. She could fix that in the boutiques downstairs first thing in the morning. There would be new equipment and clothing, and there would be a weapon. As her body fell asleep, Ayumi’s mind reached out and pulled information on permits for hunting in the Franklin Preserve and the transport of weapons. One was easy to accomplish. The other would require some careful manipulations that would be more easily accomplished face-to-face in the morning.
As Kieran would have said, there was an exception to every rule. Mally would have agreed, but she knew that things were very different now. As Ayumi, she could manufacture the outcome necessary. Emotion and action were two very separate things. Emotion had held Amy back from her potential. Action, Mally understood, could have set her free.
I am free now.
In the quiet interior of the Styrahi transport, Crawley cradled a glass of bourbon in one hand and worked the secure-communications set a final time. He’d warned Berkeley, who in turn would warn Kieran. That part was easy. Kieran could be counted on to note changes and take care of himself. If he could not, for some reason, Lily would do it for him. His new protocol was a critical part in continuing the program. Refinements were always necessary. As Kieran would have said, a plan never survived enemy contact. Crawley thought differently and tried to maintain faith that his staff would accomplish their meticulous tasks in the next few hours.
The terminal beeped, and the senior scientist in Sydney answered. “Good evening, General.”
Crawley nodded. “Dr. Aldin. I’m afraid this isn’t a social call.”
“The security encryption indicated such, sir. We’re standing by for your orders.”
Crawley felt a smile at the corners of his mouth. After all of his years in the TDF, he’d never felt so lucky to have a team like them, especially the original staff members such as Aldin and a handful of others. “Please execute Hastings as urgently as possible.”
On the video screen, Aldin turned briefly and nodded. “Go. Now.”
Crawley felt a surge of pride. They’d drilled the great retreat several times a year. Just a couple of years before, it wouldn’t have taken long with a handful of subjects. With over fifty in the queue, it would take them ninety minutes to evacuate the Integration Center. Underground tunnels would secret the subjects and staff into nearby buildings. The subjects would then be carefully evacuated based on their awakening status. The subjects closest to awakening would transfer over several days to Brisbane for controlled care at TDF Facility Brisbane. Others would be moved to Canberra and Adelaide until the dust settled, when the follow-on facility in Melbourne could take all them in. If Neige was willing to kill him, she was willing to render his program and everyone in it dead.
“And you, sir?” Aldin rubbed his chin. The flecks of gray tucked into the blond hair of the younger man’s beard briefly reflected light.
“I’ll handle the final inspections myself,” Crawley said. “I’ll touch down there in two hours, give or take. You’re in charge of operations until further notice, Dr. Aldin. Notify Garrett and Kerno of the change in their responsibilities, too.” Each of the two transient centers needed a competent leader able to act without constant supervision. If things went the way he anticipated, Crawley wouldn’t speak to them for a very long time. Penelope Neige would play her cards soon, and Crawley knew his part was to be right where she wanted him to be.
“Understood. Good luck, General.”
“You, too.” The connection terminated, and Crawley sat back and sipped his bourbon. Outside the window, central Asia shot past. The war-torn hellholes of Afghanistan and Pakistan looked as unforgiving as ever from the air. Armies from the time of Hannibal to the Soviet war machine had tried unsuccessfully to take those regions, only to fail. Impossible terrain and apathetic people let warring factions rule. While the Global War on Terrorism had been largely ineffective in the eyes of historians, the technological accomplishments in the care of the wounded had had a profound effect. Those early attempts to understand traumatic brain injuries led, ultimately, to the capture of memories. Combined with DNA sampling, the memory studies led to theories about genetically cloned subjects waking with their memories intact. The prospect produced a copious amount of biotechnical experimentation that manifested, after nearly three hundred years, in the first subjects of the sleeper program. One was on Mars, slowly piecing together a plan to change combat operations, and the other, whether she knew it or not, had brought unwanted scrutiny from the Terran Council. How the Terran Defense Force and Earth Fleet would respond was Crawley’s biggest gamble, but it was one he had been prepared to take all along. Of all the players in the coming conflict, they knew the stakes were highest. They desperately wanted to win in the fastest, least costly way possible.
Thirenalla appeared in the cabin and sat across from him. Her beautiful eyes caught his own, and he smiled. The first time he’d met a Styrahi, more than twenty years before, he’d been intimidated by their inhuman beauty and their very human compassion. Pronounced cheekbones, dual hearts, and extra toes aside, they often seemed more human that his own people. The species worked together for the common good and preserved themselves against all enemies. And they were absolutely vicious in a fight.
“Is everything all right?” She looked amused. “You’ve planned this day for a very long time, Adam. Trust the plan.”
“A plan never survives enemy contact,” Crawley said dryly. “This is not the time to be doing this.”
Thirenalla laughed. “You and Miles. Your absolute lack of faith in yourselves is not charming and is completely wrong.”
“You know what I meant, Thirenalla.”
“I do, Adam. When you know what your enemy will likely do, your plan is more valid. An unpredictable enemy is dangerous, while a predictable one can be defeated. You know how she will respond.”
Crawley nodded. “This whole thing depends on her taking my dishonesty about the second subject personally. If she’s as pissed off as I think she is, we can count on her tipping the Terran Council’s hand and doing rash things without the prelate’s knowledge. When she does, you will be there to document all of it and get it into the prelate’s hands at the appropriate time.”
“Calculated dishonesty, right?” Thirenalla raised a glass of wine to her lips. “The TDF—and Styrahi Council, I might add—are still behind you.”
“Something about the end justifying the means, no doubt.” Crawley smirked.
“Something like that. You’re aware of the impending threat at Ethi Prime?”
“I am. Fleet has deployed the Stirling.”
“If this is the Greys, we have to assume it’s a reconnaissance mission to probe our defensive structure.” Thirenalla sighed. “Their fleet is out there and could be here within months.”
Crawley nodded. “I don’t know if we’ll be ready in time.”
Thirenalla regarded him with her wide eyes, and Crawley felt lonely for the first time in his adult life. Miles and Kieran had known powerful love, but he had not. Perhaps there would be time, if things went well. The next few hours would define what his future could be.
“Is something wrong, Adam?”
He met her eyes and sighed. “Not really. Just thinking about unfinished business.”
“Unfinished life, Adam. Your business is well in hand.” She gave a smile, and he found himself returning it.
“Let’s hope.”
“According to Miles, there is always hope,” Thirenalla said.
They rode in silence, giving Crawley the time to double- and triple-check his plans. In ninety minutes, he’d ensure firsthand that their operations were indeed safe and that the Terran Council responded as predicted. The petty could always be trusted to do the predictable.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
On final approach, the tower called me a second time to check my aircraft status and fuel state before landing. I’d been so deep in
thought I hadn’t heard them the first time.
“Xray One Nine, Elysium. Final approach check, say states. Over.”
“Elysium, Xray One Nine, Skyhawk green, fuel is three point four. Over,” I replied and wiggled in my seat.
“Xray One Nine, you’re cleared for final approach. Over.”
That big idea—what Crawley had brought me back for—bubbled up in my mind as I circled back from Hecates Tholus. The concept made complete and total sense in this new world of Fleet and Terran Defense Force dysfunction. The idea of ground forces and air forces working in synchronicity was not new. The key, in the past, had been coordination. Command centers with giant “floors” of staff officers on headsets like gamers coordinated the battlefield. Only in emergencies could all forces talk to each other in real time. That was essential, but the higher-level planning functions remained in those coordinated centers hundreds, if not thousands, of miles from the actual combat. But for all those good intentions, those vast control floors did not work, because they took the initiative away from commanders on the front line. Coordination took time. There was no greater finite resource for a unit in contact than time.
Closer coordination was only part of the issue. The twentieth-century tenets of the AirLand Battle Doctrine provided the avenues for a unit to exist that integrated air and land assets seamlessly. That was why the original AirLand doctrine was created to stop the Russians from entering the Fulda Gap during the Cold War. Created around versatility, agility, integration, depth, and synchronization, the doctrine clearly defined the battlespace, as the generals called it now, into three zones. In the doctrine, friendly forces protected the rear, engaged the close, and exploited the deep fight. No fighting force could do that with ground or artillery forces alone. The Fleet and TDF had to be integrated.
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