Jora’h’s expression softened. He had seen his fearless daughter’s unexpected flicker of affection for the bookish human. “And what would you ask me to do, daughter?”
“Give him something else to see. On your orders, Rememberer Vao’sh faces the enormous task of studying the apocryphal archives for clues. Why not let the human scholar assist him on Hyrillka? Send Anton Colicos with him far from here, where he will not observe what you wish to keep hidden!”
“Yes, that is a very good idea.” Jora’h sighed with genuine relief. This was a decision he could make without losing more honor. “I made plans and promises when I departed Hyrillka in the aftermath of Rusa’h’s rebellion. Tal O’nh is leading the rescue and rebuilding mission, and young Designate Ridek’h needs to be about his duties at last.”
Yazra’h stood at attention. “Ridek’h is still only a boy, but even a boy Designate is better than none at all. The people of Hyrillka are guilt-ridden and wounded. They need him there.”
Knowing it was not logical, but certain this was what he wished to do, Jora’h said, “And Ridek’h needs you, Yazra’h. As my daughter, you will never be a Designate, but you have the knowledge and strength of character. Go with the boy as adviser, protector, and mentor—and also watch this human rememberer to keep him out of trouble.”
“But my place is at the Mage-Imperator’s side, to protect you!”
“You cannot protect me against the dangers I face.”
She looked extremely uncomfortable. “Cannot Tal O’nh be Ridek’h’s teacher and guide?”
He shook his head. “The tal is a military commander and can offer his strength, but a Designate needs more than that. Ridek’h is the son of Pery’h. He has enough potential.”
Yazra’h left, troubled but not quite successful in hiding her smile. The Mage-Imperator remained on the rooftop, deep in thought, knowing the hydrogues would come back before long to deliver their commands. He could only hope that before then, Adar Zan’nh and Ildira’s best minds could solve the much greater challenge.
45
ADAR ZAN’NH
The Ildiran technical teams did not lack for manpower or resources. Every possible laboratory facility was made available to them, and they conducted experiments, refined calculations, and improved their traditional weapons. Unfortunately, after ten thousand years of malaise and stagnation, the scientist and engineer kithmen were no longer capable of true innovation.
“We have increased our destructive power by nearly five percent, Adar.” Klie’f and Shir’of seemed pleased with the result.
Zan’nh scowled. “Five percent? The Mage-Imperator demanded breakthroughs, not more of the same thing we have used for centuries. You need new thoughts, not better versions of old ones.”
Klie’f raised his hands helplessly. “We do not understand, Adar.”
“It is clear you do not. Five percent, against an extermination force of diamond warglobes? The hydrogues will not even notice the difference.”
As a young tal, Zan’nh had been promoted by Adar Kori’nh because he solved crises in ways that other Ildirans could not imagine. He had won simulated battles with tricky maneuvers and unconventional tactics, no matter how much he incensed the older officers.
Zan’nh turned away in disappointment. The Solar Navy needed something entirely unexpected, and for that he could not look to unimaginative researchers.
Finally, he pushed aside his reluctance. The Mage-Imperator had told him to try anything, and Zan’nh would solicit ideas from an unlikely source.
The balding administrator of the Hansa cloud harvester faced him indignantly. “You’ve got to be kidding. After all this, you want us to help you?” He rolled his eyes, looking at his sharp-featured engineering chief, Tabitha Huck.
“That’s a switch!” she said. “I’ve been bored silly.”
Zan’nh had first met Sullivan Gold when his warliners encountered the trespassing cloud harvester at Qronha 3. Typically oblivious, the Hansa manager had been surprised that Ildirans would take offense just because humans had placed an industrial facility on a planet that did not belong to them.
He crossed his arms and regarded them both. “Like your Terran Hanseatic League, our Ildiran Empire faces imminent destruction from the hydrogues. The Mage-Imperator has commanded our Solar Navy to develop innovative weapons against them. We have made only minor progress, and time is running out. Therefore, I request your assistance. My people cannot do this alone.”
“The terms ‘Ildiran’ and ‘innovation’ aren’t usually used in the same sentence.” Tabitha’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Zan’nh allowed a small smile. “That is exactly the point. Our civilization reached the pinnacle of achievement centuries ago. Our people no longer develop radical new concepts. Culturally, such things are frowned upon.”
Tabitha clearly had little respect for her Ildiran counterparts. “And now that you need a new idea, nobody can come up with one to save his life.”
“To save all our lives,” Zan’nh pointed out. “My people have never been trained to think along unorthodox lines. Humans, however, are well versed in this.”
“Damn right,” Tabitha said.
Sullivan’s voice was like iron. “Before we do anything for you, I need you to tell us what’s going on. What was your mysterious mission to Qronha 3 with that little girl and her diving bell chamber? What’s the real story behind all those warglobes that appeared over Ildira?”
The Adar considered his instructions and the new leeway the Mage-Imperator had given him. No more secrets! Conceding, Zan’nh explained the situation, including the looming hydrogue threat and why Jora’h had needed to keep the humans isolated.
“What the hell!” Tabitha cried. Sullivan looked dizzy.
“Unless you help us find a way to defeat the hydrogues, we will have no choice but to give in to their ultimatum. We have no wish to see humans exterminated. Therefore, it is in your best interests to help us. I want—” He caught himself. “Sullivan Gold, I would very much appreciate it if you and your human workers assisted us.”
Sullivan’s anguish was clear. “Why didn’t you just ask in the first place?”
Zan’nh lowered his head. “Previously, our priorities were . . . incorrect.”
Tabitha’s eyes went wide. “Did you just admit you were wrong?” She tossed her light brown hair. “You don’t have to twist my arm to cause heartburn for the drogues. I’m tired of staring out the windows all day long. Remember, I used to be an EDF weapons designer before I came to work on the cloud harvester. I helped create the initial fraks and carbon-carbon slammers. I still have a lot of basic designs in my head, but our weapons weren’t terribly effective against the warglobes either.” She paced restlessly. “The question is, what can I do that hasn’t been done before?”
“Precisely,” Zan’nh said. “We are searching for innovation.”
Sullivan laced his big-knuckled fingers together and faced the Adar. “If we agree to help you, there’s got to be some measure of trust. And afterward, you have to let us go home.”
“Sullivan Gold, if we do not defeat the hydrogues now, none of us will have a home to return to.”
46
ENGINEERING SPECIALIST SWENDSEN
When the two scientists proudly delivered the tiny upload pack with their repeater virus, Sergeant Paxton held it between thumb and forefinger. “Doesn’t look like much of a secret weapon.”
“If this works, all the compies inside the factory will immediately shut down,” Yamane explained with a calmness that Swendsen certainly didn’t feel.
“Then we can use the same idea for the other EDF battle groups,” Swendsen added. “If we get data copies out to them soon enough.”
The silver berets were ready to take down the besieged compy factory, and this time they meant business. No more practice. Lugging sonic battering rams, the new penetration team—five times the size of the previous squad—rushed up to the barricaded doors on the quiet side of th
e sprawling facility, choosing to enter through wings less likely to be occupied by the murderous compies.
Without slowing, the silver berets hit the factory door. Sonic rams made a deafening bang that Swendsen could hear even through his comm-receiver earplugs. The barricade buckled like a crumpled piece of foil and fell away.
“Move it inside before the clankers come running!” Sergeant Paxton yelled. “Move! Move!”
Protected by a phalanx of commandos, Swendsen and Yamane remained confident in their frantically developed virus. They knew the fix would work; they just had grave doubts about surviving long enough to implement it. Every one of the silver berets carried a tiny datapack copy: Redundancy increased the odds that at least one patch virus would reach the main programming station.
Silver berets plunged forward, weapons raised. Each one carried a projection grid that displayed the primary path for their insertion, along with alternate routes. The commandos ran, armor and weapons clattering, boots thundering across the floor. Swendsen and Yamane were already out of breath in their attempt to keep up, but knew they would be killed if they fell behind. The Soldier compies would close in on them soon.
The group rushed through narrow corridors lined with shelves stacked with fabricated components waiting to be assembled. As they had hoped, the wing was empty, and they encountered no resistance.
“Keep together. Hold it tight!” Paxton yelled.
The commandos did not let up, and Swendsen could see that even the weakest of these men and women was far more fit than either he or Yamane. As part of their training, silver berets ran ten kilometers every day. According to a popular mythos, they ate nails, played catch with boulders, and dangled from cliffs for the sheer recreational value.
The squad pushed into the white-walled clean rooms where Klikiss robot programming was impressed upon the control circuits. I guess it was a big mistake to do that, Swendsen thought. Too late now.
The point commandos dropped to their knees and opened fire as two Soldier compies emerged from a cold, vapor-filled vault carrying replacement modules. Not expecting to see human intruders, the compies spun about. The silver berets blasted them into shrapnel.
“Must be getting close,” Paxton said.
Swendsen nodded. “The central upload banks are right ahead.”
“Then that’s where we need to go.” Private Elman kicked open the door.
The background noise grew louder with the hammering of assembly arms, the crackle and hiss of welders, the clatter of moving conveyors. A thousand Soldier compies were at work producing more robots. The first two silver berets mowed down the standing compies with dense, depleted-uranium projectiles, knocking the robots backward, but more machines quickly replaced them.
Paxton shouted, “Can’t shoot them all. Blast and run—brute force, not finesse. We have to cut a swath through these tin cans.”
Swendsen pointed the way. The commandos formed ranks again and charged like an aggressive football team toward its goalpost. They knocked compies away using exploding slugs and electrostatic short-circuiting fields. But several Soldier compies seized hot weapons from the commandos, then grabbed the unarmed men and women and killed them.
Sergeant Paxton growled, “Look ahead and stay on target! Almost there.”
Several more silver berets fell as the group pushed through the sea of clankers. By the time they reached the control center, Swendsen was stunned to see that only Paxton and three other commandos had survived, along with him and Yamane. Nearly fifty silver berets had sacrificed themselves so the two technical specialists could get through with their patch virus.
Once inside the upload center, the last commandos barricaded the door as Soldier compies threw themselves against it. “How fast can you upload those viruses?” Paxton said.
“No one else could do it faster,” Swendsen said, then cringed as a barrage of gunfire echoed around the walls.
“Two minutes,” Yamane answered. He started to say something else, but an explosion drowned him out. He blinked, recovered, then repeated, “Two minutes.”
“All right, two minutes.” Without being told, the commandos barricaded the door. “You better not be exaggerating.”
The compies used weapons seized from fallen silver berets to shoot holes through the door. Staccato thuds and clangs rattled across the barricade and stitched a seam of holes along the walls.
Swendsen cringed over the control deck. Outside, a muffled explosion reverberated through the floor. “This is delicate work! How am I supposed to concentrate?”
Paxton gave a disbelieving snort. “Should I go outside and tell the damned clankers to keep it down?”
Yamane was concerned about a more practical matter. “If one of those projectiles destroys the equipment here, we can’t install our repeater virus.”
“Then I suggest you move faster than a proverbial speeding bullet.”
Working in intent silence amidst the background din, the two scientists copied the patch virus into the upload center and fed it into the imprinting transmitter. By design, each compy that received the virus would copy it and dump it to another compy, and another, and another. Once the cascade began, all the berserk robots would shut down.
At least Swendsen hoped so.
Compies shattered the makeshift barricade. Paxton and his comrades fell back and opened fire. “These are your last few seconds, gentlemen!”
“There, that’s got it,” Yamane said. “Ready to go.”
Swendsen hit the transmit switch. The brief but deadly nugget of new programming swept out into the compy factory.
The front robot ranks paused as the signal slammed into them, altering their core programming. They hesitated as the repeater virus was automatically handed off to the next machine and the next. The compies staggered, then froze, shutting down in waves. An expanding current of stillness swept through the clamor of the factory.
Swendsen and Yamane waited at the control upload deck, afraid to speak. The surviving silver berets looked at each other, then at all the suddenly petrified Soldier compies. Robot arms were outstretched, artificial hands ready to tear them apart. They looked like an avant-garde artist’s concept of a statue garden.
One of the commandos shouldered a compy aside with a crash. With a growing snarl he knocked another one down, as if clearing debris. Sergeant Paxton and the remaining silver berets got into the vengeful spirit, tossing compies until they had cleared a way out of the battered control center.
Formally shaking hands to congratulate each other, Swendsen and Yamane surveyed the now-silent compy factory with satisfaction. “They’ll never find their way out of that infinite loop.”
“We still have a lot of work to do,” Yamane said. “Simply understanding what initially went wrong could take months.”
“Save that for when the emergency’s over,” Paxton said. “We need to inform the EDF that your patch virus worked. They can start transmitting it to hotspots right now, save some of our battle groups.” He triggered his shoulder mike and broadcast his report.
“I’d feel more comfortable if we could just get out of here.” Swendsen wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, clearing droplets of perspiration.
“Agreed,” the silver berets said in perfect unison.
They made their way back through the frozen compies, amazed by the sheer number of motionless robots. Running the frenetic assembly lines beyond their design limits, the Soldier compies had increased their ranks tenfold.
“The nearest exit’s over here.” Paxton led the way. Ahead, they could see the hangar doors.
“Like whistling through a graveyard at midnight,” a silver beret said.
“Nothing to fear now,” Swendsen said. “It worked exactly as planned.”
Sergeant Paxton clicked his shoulder transmitter again. “We’re at door 1701/7. Be ready to let us out.”
“Acknowledged, Sergeant.”
One of the Soldier compies twitched.
Swendsen paus
ed. “Did you see that?”
Yamane frowned, troubled by this unexpected technical problem. “They shouldn’t be able to bypass so quickly. I wonder if they’ve installed adaptive security programming in their new constructions.”
Eye sensors glowed. Two mechanical arms shifted. A polymer-reinforced torso straightened. Bullet-shaped heads swiveled.
“Oh, crap!” said Paxton. “Run!”
Swendsen and Yamane bolted. The surviving silver berets charged toward the door, but the Soldier compies revived too swiftly. Swendsen tripped on a compy that was just starting to move. He caught at a nearby robot to regain his balance, only to be grabbed by it. Terrified, he wrenched away, ripping a bloody gouge in his shoulder.
With the ammunition left in their weapons, the silver berets blasted away, yelling at the top of their lungs. Hundreds and then thousands of compies marched toward them, blocking the way out. They closed in from all sides.
Swendsen could see the exit, but it was much, much too far away.
47
RLINDA KETT
Rattling and tugging, nematodes chewed through the metal floor of the lift. From its sluggish movement and frequent lurches, Rlinda imagined at least fifty of the heavy worms must be clinging down there. How swiftly they had slithered up the shaft walls and clambered along protrusions, driven by Karla Tamblyn’s furious control.
Rlinda struggled to fasten the chest guard of her environment suit while BeBob fit her remaining glove in place. With a thud followed by loud skittering, the nematodes buckled the insulated floor plates, and a flash of serrated diamond teeth bit through a crack in the metal. Rlinda stomped her heel down as hard as she could, and the worm-thing disappeared. After only a brief pause, the nematodes flung themselves back with renewed vigor, squirming and sliding with a sound like wet leather. The ascending elevator slowed with a jerk, grinding in its track.
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