“Fire,” Trianne said. “I need imagery confirmations.”
Da’adstri followed the young girl’s eyes to a monitor that zoomed in from a lone Styrahi aircraft high above them. Its suborbital camera centered on the Grey charge. In a flash more than ten miles wide, the terrain around the Greys buckled and roiled with three waves of missiles.
“Direct hit,” Trianne reported.
Da’adstri turned to her young intelligence specialist. Trianne had arrived with confirmation the humans had deployed the Stirling and two gunnery frigates to orbit. They were on the far side of Ethi Prime and racing toward the Grey Jack.
“Confirm direct hit,” Trianne said. “Estimated twenty percent combat loss to advancing vehicles.”
Da’adstri nodded. “Ready second salvo, and get me orbital-bombardment solutions. As soon as those frigates are in range, they need to drop everything they have.” A twenty-percent decrease in each salvo would be too good to ask the gods for, but the losses gave her confidence despite the Stirling’s low chance of emerging from the fight without substantial losses.
“Second salvo is ready. One minute to launch.”
Da’adstri nodded. “Ensure optical tracking on all missiles. When the Greys move, I want our missiles to follow them.”
“Optical tracking online,” the young artillery officer replied. “Solutions calculated.”
Watching the screens intently, Da’adstri played the scenario out in her mind. The Greys would attempt to evade the second salvo. The third would split them as they arrived at the strongpoint close enough to lob direct fire onto her positions. From there, she could also bring fire directly upon them. The Greys would attempt to find a soft point in the Styrahi defense and would not succeed, except from orbit. The humans were the lynchpin.
“Get me the nexus commander.”
Jenli’s voice filled her headset a few seconds later. “Da’adstri?”
“I need to talk to the Stirling’s forward observer.” The forward observer was responsible for directing the orbital guns to targets in space and on the surface. “We have to protect the nexus from orbital fires. The Greys will hit you where I cannot stop them.”
“Stand by for connection,” her counterpart said.
There was a brief burst of static in her ears, and she heard a human male voice. “Styrahi forward, this is the Stirling FO. What’s your traffic? Over.”
Da’adstri curled her hands into fists. “Your time to target? More specifically, when will you have the ability to fire on the Jack and then provide cover to my forces?”
“Yeah, roger. We’ll fire on the Jack at maximum visual range in fourteen minutes.”
She screwed up her face in confusion. “Can’t you fire from beyond visual range?”
“Well, yeah, but in order to make sure we can really hit the Jack, it’s best to see it.”
“That makes no sense,” Da’adstri said. “Get Stirling actual on this frequency. Now.” Fourteen minutes would have the Grey ground forces knocking at her doorstep, and the nexus would be under attack from orbital fire. The human inability to understand the fight enraged her.
“Styrahi forward, this is Stirling actual, over,” the Stirling’s commanding officer called.
“Captain, respectfully request you fire on the Jack beyond visual range. I am concerned that it will reach a position over the nexus before you plan to fire. I need two interactions directed at the Jack and three at the enemy approaching my position, or the nexus will fail.”
“Styrahi forward, we’ll fire on the Jack when we can ensure direct engagement. Recommend you engage your enemy with stand-off weaponry and—”
“I am, gods damn you! Bring your guns into the fight, or there will be nothing left here! The Greys will push us back to Carantan, maybe farther. It’s one Jack! You can at least disable it before it can range the nexus. Fire your guns.”
There was a full fifteen seconds of silence. “Styrahi forward, you are not authorized to request fire from this vessel unless your forces are decisively engaged with ground forces and in need of retreat.”
Da’adstri smashed her fist into the side of the vehicle. The pain did not diminish her rage or focus her thoughts. “Can you not see that we will be in retreat, and you will be unable to support us?” She disconnected the frequency and stopped herself from punching the vehicle again.
“Second salvo away,” her artillery officer reported.
Da’adstri turned immediately to Trianne. “Damage?”
“Twenty-two percent,” Trianne said. “The Greys attempted to evade, just as you said.”
Still more than eight thousand vehicles inbound. Da’adstri shook her head and disengaged the connection to the Stirling. “Ready the third salvo. They will split into two forces. Target the ones to the east so we can retreat with our ships. We attack to the west when the third salvo detonates.”
She pushed a button once more and heard Jenli connect. “Prepare to evacuate the nexus.”
“We’re fine right now. We can—”
“No. The Jack will be overhead in eight minutes. You’re unprotected from above. Get out now. Notify the council, and prepare to evacuate to Carantan. We can’t get past the Jack for Styrah. At Carantan, we have two brigades and a half-dozen warships. We go there.”
Jenli sighed. “Understood. We’ll see you on Carantan.”
Da’adstri didn’t respond. Something told her it would be a miracle if she managed to see her friend again.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Scents of coffee and bacon wafted down the hallway and under Ayumi’s door. Her olfactory sensors activated, identified the scents, and cataloged them, using data remaining from Amy’s batch file. The physical reaction of her stomach rumbling rousted Ayumi to a sitting position. Her flight would leave in three hours, giving her enough time to shower and eat a full breakfast before shopping for the items she intended to carry into the Franklin Preserve, enough to sustain herself for two days.
The shower was a massive square design with a half-dozen showerheads. With the water at a constant forty degrees centigrade, as the showers in Japan had been, Ayumi stepped inside and lost herself in the steam and the flood of sensations registered by her body. Massaging streams on the sensitive skin of her skull felt like nothing she’d experienced. Pores opened and drank in the moisture as she soaked. Shampoo and conditioner dispensers hung from one wall. With delicate care, she massaged the shampoo into her hair and scalp. Her shorter hair required much less care, which she determined to be a good thing. While Amy’s batch file would no doubt contain different ways to control and manage her hair, it was simply easier to wear it shorter until she could learn herself. The need for conditioner exemplified the countless ways she needed to learn to take care of herself. Being human, and trying to be attractive, was more of a chore than she had assumed, but the alternative was worse.
There was no going back.
Ayumi took the soap and started with her arms and chest. New sensations came from her breasts, centering on her sensitive nipples. These she defined as pleasurable, and she moved to her abdomen and the parts of her back that she could reach. She soaped one leg and then the other, glad that the option to permanently lose her hair was free with her therapy. The genetic enhancements were worth the overall effort on her body and would help to prevent accidental injury, but they were by no means cheap. The actual costs were hidden through a series of accounts derived from those she’d found and used during Kieran’s flight from Memphis. The whore, Chastity, had served as her conduit for falsifying payment information that would keep Kieran unknown. It had been easy enough to verify and reengage the dormant, clandestine pathways.
Her right hand moved up the inside of her thigh and touched her pelvic region, triggering a whole new set of sensations. She followed them, like an aircraft following a radar signal. Her fingers identified parts of her anatomy with the
precision of a clinician while her pleasure centers seemed to explode. Data poured through her computation apparatus and threatened to overload her processors. Amy’s batch file was no help as there was no record of such behavior for the subject during her time on walkabout. Likewise, Kieran’s batch file was full of data that did not apply. As she watched Kieran’s recorded memories, Ayumi tried to ascertain what Berkeley must have felt in that region during lovemaking, but she could not.
But as she watched, her fingers touched the knob of her clitoris and began to rub in concert with Kieran’s thrusts on the video. As Kieran registered an orgasm, her thighs quivered, and a rush of endorphins flooded her system. Comparison with outside data sources identified the sensation as an orgasm. Ayumi slumped against the wall, breathing hard as the throes of her experience worked her over. The steaming water brought her back to semiconsciousness, and thoughts that verged on embarrassment emerged.
<
Ayumi stopped for a moment and wondered if she was capable of imagining things. She was human, to a certain degree, and therefore could imagine things. There were things about the human mind that were very different from her sensors and programs. It was enough of an answer to let her focus on washing her body again for the sake of reveling in the sensations.
Does that make me a pervert? She thought to herself, only to hear a curious mix of Amy’s voice and her own again.
<
Yes. The data could not be wrong.
<
Ayumi blinked. At her core, she was Mally—a protocol program—so hearing the voice of her human subject should have been impossible. I deleted you.
<
You are a ghost in the machine. I don’t make mistakes.
<
There was no program, no connection, and no source for the voice. The data reassured her, in a way. Scanning early searches, some from Kieran’s life, she wondered about the possibility of a soul or some other ethereal presence that couldn’t be explained.
Ayumi sighed. I do not need a human conscience.
<
Why are you helping me?
Amy laughed, actually laughed, in her mind. <
Ayumi scanned her files again, saw the deleted-files list, and knew that Amy’s residual files and personality sets had been purged. The batch file was merely data, with less than a thousandth of a percent labeled as questionable. A further search revealed no consequential data sources. External interference was impossible, and internal interference, statistically, could not exist. Double-checking repeatedly for the root source of the voice turned up nothing. She reviewed every single file and pathway with no success. Her baseline threat detection turned up nothing. Ayumi clenched her fists and bit her lip in frustration. I don’t want you here. You can’t possibly be here.
<
After drying herself and dressing, all the while thinking she was losing control or alternately wondering if that was what most of Kieran’s internal musings of conscience had sounded like, Ayumi went to eat. She deferred to the latter, believing that Kieran had talked to himself to figure things out and create some kind of plan. The self-control aspect served to keep him moving and doing the things that needed to be done rather than waiting for someone else to act for him.
The taste of coffee surprised her, as did the salty richness of bacon, and she ate her fill from the expansive breakfast buffet along one wall. Sunlight cascaded through the windows, painting the room in gold and light-brown shadows. Ayumi ate in silence, reviewing the procedures to get in and out of the Franklin Preserve. Weapons were not allowed in the preserve, but there appeared to be very little security focus. Chartered flights, and those who flew on them, were searchable, but there was no standard procedure from the Columbia Security Division.
Of course, she actually had to acquire a weapon first. Self-preservation would be critical, and it would be easier from a distance. She would need a firearm of a good caliber. Columbia was the North American continent’s only gun-free zone, yet there were specialty stores within fifty blocks of the Waldorf that sold guns and ammunition. The guns were considered “antique” or “custom,” as was the ammunition. There was nothing “current” in their inventories. It made no sense, but human data seldom did. What mattered was that a simple weapon should be easy to get, provided she could conceal her identity against the servers responsible for issuing a permit. With five seconds of concentration, she initiated a request for a permit and expedited it based upon her previously created payment structure. Money still talked. High-profile individuals, and their personal assistants, could get things faster than the general public. No one needed to know that she had absolutely nothing to do with the chairman of the Logistical Committee for Columbia. She would be long gone from this godforsaken republic before the error could be caught. And then, it would be traced to a girl without a brain somewhere in Memphis.
Ayumi smiled at the memory.
After a quick trip through the fashion boutique to pick out jeans and a new jacket, she crossed the lobby like a new woman. Checking out of the hotel took virtually no time, and outside in the cool, bright morning, she decided to walk the fifty blocks instead of taking an autobus. The prospect of exercising her legs and taking in the sights from street level seemed like a good idea. Her decision lasted five blocks amongst the throng of people making their way to work or home. The jostling, surging crowds at once disoriented and unnerved her. She hailed an approaching autobus and climbed aboard. The people on the crowded bus seemed not to notice her, save for two men in the back who stared at her and then looked away. Her threat indicators fluctuated briefly to 10 percent and then dropped. Two stops later, a seat opened, and she fell into it. The droning of the bus served to lull her mind away from the situation around her and to the scene outside. Trucks decorated in bright colors like cartoon characters shuffled by at street level and above in screaming, shouting waves. Ayumi watched and wondered why humans reacted so much to attention, especially when it was as fleeting as love.
Kieran. I wanted that to be me, not Berkeley. The thought sobered her, despite her experience with his batch-file videos.
<>
Please stop. I need to focus on getting a gun.
<
Ayumi was wondering what that meant when the autobus came to a stop on the block of the specialty store she’d requested. As she moved off the bus, several other passengers did, too, including the two men who’d studied her when she boarded. Walking quickly down the street, hands stuffed in her pockets, Ayumi did not notice the men approaching from behind until it was too late. Each grabbed one of her arms, and they forced her into a tight alleyway between a haberdashery and a delicatessen. One of the men was tall and dark haired with a five-o’clock shadow like a cartoon character. He stood six two and was easily two hundred fifty pounds. The other was younger, a blond man who seemed like a stick compared to his partner. The younger
one pulled a gun and pointed at her abdomen. Her threat analysis jumped to 53 percent and fluctuated as she planted her feet and considered the options for reprisal. A strange mixture of adrenaline and endorphins shot into her system, making her knees quiver. The emotional response was fear, and she relished it.
“Don’t say a fuckin’ word, bitch.”
Ayumi put on a shocked face and tilted her head to play the “foreigner” gambit and see what the men did. She spoke unintelligible Japanese, something about frogs and the sea of yellow emptiness. The blond slapped her face with his free hand and waved the pistol. Stars exploded in her vision, and her eyes began to water involuntarily. While not severe, the pain startled her as much as the earlier pleasure in the shower.
“Shut the fuck up. You translate.” He said the last part again in halting Japanese as if reading his neural feed aloud.
She nodded and said in a shaky voice. “Hai.”
“Good.” He licked his lips. There were sores at both corners, and she saw the misshapen lumps of his teeth. “Direct your feed to 012.212.918.21.0. Do it now.”
Ayumi keyed the information and saw the fund codes linking directly to an account significantly in arrears, to the tune of ten thousand Euros. It was under a female name. “Okay,” she squeaked out.
“Five thousand. Transfer it now, or I blast a hole in your gut.”
With a thought, she engaged her own transaction process with the intent to cancel it the moment the men relaxed and gave her an opening to defend herself. It seemed like a good plan until she studied the two men and their weapons. The pistol was an M1911 series .45 caliber pistol that had clearly seen better days. There were sixteen visually pitted surface points, and the serial number had been removed by filing. An estimate put the age at over a hundred years old, but the modifications to the barrel and iron sights, as far as she could see, could easily push that estimate higher.
And the weapon was set to safe instead of fire. She shifted her weight slightly and got ready, but the situation changed just as fast. The dark-skinned man opened a knife with the flick of his free wrist. He spun into her, placing an arm around her neck so the younger man could let go and confront her. His breath smelled like liver and onions. Ayumi identified it and suppressed a gag reflex.
Vendetta Protocol Page 16