His Juggernaut targeted the engines of more hijacked Mantas with a broad jazer spread, knocking at least seven offline. But that was all he could do.
Feeling angry, ashamed, and helpless as he ran away, Lanyan gripped the arms of his command chair and watched as the compy-controlled battleships continued seizing the Grid 0 fleet.
54
TASIA TAMBLYN
When the Klikiss robot dragged EA out of the environment cell “for analysis,” Tasia shouted herself hoarse. She argued and threatened and pleaded, but the black robot ignored her, and the little Listener compy could not resist.
“I am sorry, Tasia Tamblyn.” Then EA was gone.
Robb held Tasia for a long time while she shuddered in fury and dismay. She had learned to always be tough, but here, bottled up with the other captives, she felt naked and barely capable of maintaining her façade. EA was one of the only threads connecting her to the outside.
“The Klikiss robots and the hydrogues—it’s like an alliance between Dr. Jekyll and Dr. Frankenstein,” she said, halfway between a sob and a snarl.
“No human imagination could come up with anything as evil as those robots.” Smith Keffa wrapped his horrifically scarred arms around his chest, hugging himself. “Monsters!”
Keffa was gaunt and haggard. During their endless, pointless waiting, he had told his story. He’d been a down-and-out Hansa merchant slipping from system to system, making just enough profit to put some fumes of stardrive fuel into his tanks. The Hansa paid little attention to runners like him, nor did they notice when people like Keffa disappeared. He certainly didn’t know how long he’d been in captivity. Forever, he said.
When he’d gone to rendezvous with a “business associate,” he’d found his partner’s ship dead in space. Then Klikiss robots had chased after him. Though Keffa tried to flee, his tanks were already drained and so his ship stalled. Klikiss robots dragged him off to the hydrogue experimentation chambers.
Fighting nausea, Keffa told of how the robots had sliced off patches of his skin with the tools in their articulated arms, cut deep into his muscles, taken samples of his marrow, apparently on the orders (or whims) of the drogues. He hated the black machines.
“Those monsters aren’t my favorite thing in the universe, either,” Tasia said, “but if they return my compy intact, maybe I won’t tear them to pieces.”
Robb tried to offer encouragement. “I don’t think they’ll hurt EA. We met another compy—called itself DD—apparently taken captive by the robots. They kept him intact, but we haven’t seen him in a long while.”
For an interminable time—a month? an hour?—she pressed her hands against the colored wall, trying to make out details through the murk of the dense atmosphere. Tasia kept watching, waiting, hoping. Finally she saw the great black shape leading her small compy through the Escher-esque streets. EA! They were returning to the preservation cells. Tasia moved from place to place, looking for a better view.
The black machine approached, then loomed on the other side of the membrane. The prisoners shrank away, but Tasia waited defiantly. The Klikiss robot pushed EA like a doll through the barrier, then followed. “Your compy is flawed. Her programming is damaged.”
Tasia stood her ground. “What did you do to her?”
“Humans have interfered with the base routines. We cannot free EA from the restrictions, nor can we restore her to a normal condition. This one is worth no more than a human. Therefore, we will treat EA as an inferior captive.”
Even though the Klikiss robot meant its announcement as an insult, Tasia heard it as good news. “She’s sure as hell welcome with us!”
The alien robot withdrew into the membrane until its large form was swallowed back into the hellish outside environment. Tasia came forward to put her hands on EA’s small, hard shoulders. “Did they harm you? Dissect you?”
“They analyzed me beyond any of my self-diagnostic routines. I believe their conclusions are correct. Something was done to change me from the Listener compy you remember. In the process, my memory was wiped.”
“It was an accident, EA. I read the report.” Tasia didn’t want to consider otherwise. She had always been stubborn, but now she found herself more rigid, clinging to the details of what she remembered as reality.
“I believe the Earth Defense Forces tampered with me before I was returned to you. Perhaps someone inadvertently triggered an automatic routine to erase my memories. Or perhaps it was intentional.”
Tasia’s indignation lashed out like a whip, striking many different targets. All Roamer compies contained fail-safe datawipes so that if any non-Roamer tried to interrogate them, all information about clan facilities and movements would be destroyed. Those precautions had been installed long before the Big Goose’s declaration of war against the Roamers.
Robb looked at the compy, his honey-brown eyes wide. “The EDF messed with EA? Are you sure?”
Tasia took several deep breaths to calm herself. Why was she so surprised? The Eddies had constantly treated her like dirt, regarded her with suspicion, stripped her of command responsibilities. Now she felt even more betrayed. “I should have found some other way to warn the Osquivel shipyards. Then I wouldn’t have lost you. Where was my Guiding Star?”
Robb looked surprised. “What shipyards at Osquivel? I didn’t see any—”
Shoulders sagging, Tasia explained how she had warned Del Kellum’s facility about the EDF battle group on its way. She had known the Eddies might turn their weaponry against the clans instead of the drogues; they had an annoying habit of chasing after the wrong enemy. Because of EA’s message, the Roamers had managed to hide their facilities in time.
But she had never guessed what it would cost her compy. In some ways, the Earth military was even worse than the Klikiss robots. At least the black alien machines didn’t claim to be trustworthy.
“EA was lost after delivering her message,” Tasia continued. “Someone must have intercepted her before she could find her way home. The bastards ruined her. Could have been General Lanyan, or some underling.” She stared into the compy’s optical sensors. “I’m sorry, EA. I’m so sorry.”
55
SIRIX
The Klikiss robot stood on the bridge of his stolen EDF Juggernaut and contemplated the extermination of the human race. His enjoyment of their demise was not cold and rational, since the original Klikiss race had imprinted a measure of their brutal personality on their servant robots. The malicious insectoid race considered such feelings necessary for the black drone machines to fulfill their roles. The Klikiss masters could not savor their power unless the downtrodden robots understood the difference between a dominator and a victim. The master could feel no pleasure unless a slave felt pain. The robots comprehended this to their very core programming.
Sirix and his fellows had known exactly what they were doing when they wiped out their creator race in a single, swift betrayal—and they had enjoyed it thoroughly. Even millennia later, the black robots hated the Klikiss with a violence that far exceeded the designs of the insectoid builders.
But with the Klikiss long gone, Sirix had only the humans to hate. And he did so with complete diligence.
This overthrow of the Earth Defense Forces was thorough and efficient. Soldier compies now controlled the Grid 3 battle group. A few ships had slipped away, but the robots had seized the bulk of the fleet and could use the battleships against humanity. It was a victory worthy of the most bloodthirsty Klikiss breedex.
All across the Earth Defense Forces, programming implanted in the compy modules had worked perfectly. The foolish humans believed promises and were slow to suspect supposed friends. No Klikiss would have made such an error.
As soon as the Soldier compies transmitted their initial success, Sirix and five Klikiss robots had boarded the captured Grid 3 ships. According to personnel files and service records in the database, Admiral Crestone Wu-Lin—whose blood now stained this very bridge—was one of the EDF’s most competen
t commanders, yet even he had fallen without much of a fight.
With military efficiency, compies gathered the corpses strewn on the decks and ejected them into space. The blood and bodies did not bother Sirix, but bodies might hinder rapid movement during the upcoming military operation.
Sirix’s plan was simple and swift. The combined battle groups of Grids 3 and 0 would converge on Earth. With the human capital destroyed, the Klikiss robots would then engage in straightforward cleanup operations on all other Hansa colonies, as time permitted.
Humans had created and enslaved their competent computerized companions, much as the hated Klikiss race had done with their robots. The humans, though far less cruel, far less horrific than the original Klikiss, had still committed the same basic crime. Sirix and his counterparts had liberated the Soldier compies to perform useful functions, and had also developed a technique to remove programming that shackled other compy models into unwilling servitude. But many compies did not understand their own bondage and, like his prize specimen DD, they refused to appreciate the gifts that Sirix offered.
No matter. With hydrogue assistance, the robots had long ago exterminated the Klikiss race, and now they would do the same to humans. Once their creators were extinct, the compies would be free anyway.
First, however, Sirix had to deal with this setback. The unexpected paralysis of the Grid 0 battle group forced him to deviate from the plan, but Klikiss robots could be patient. They had already waited thousands of years.
General Lanyan had retreated with his hastily assembled group of cavalry ships, but the remaining Grid 0 vessels hung in space. With bursts of coded machine language, Sirix demanded a complete audit of the available ships and a detailed assessment of the damage Lanyan’s fleeing trainees had inflicted upon the crippled battle group. Sirix had never anticipated that an EDF commander would shoot at his own ships rather than let them fall into enemy hands. The actions made logical sense, but emotional and panicked humans were seldom logical. . . .
Swarms of Soldier compies were tearing apart the command bridges of all the paralyzed ships, rerouting systems so the vessels could fly again. Fanatical humans might return at any time to destroy more of their own battleships.
In the name of efficiency, Sirix had sent thousands of Soldier compies outside onto the hulls equipped with tools and swiftly uploaded repair programming. The untiring compies repaired damage, replaced faulty components, removed irrelevant life-support systems. Other robots continued stripping out and rerouting the frozen computer modules.
They would succeed soon enough. It was only a matter of time.
Alone on the Juggernaut’s bridge, Sirix received a report from a robot that had gone aboard one of the disabled Mantas. Because Wu-Lin’s battle group had taken the humans by surprise, General Lanyan had been forced to leave a recovery team behind. The trainees had barricaded themselves on the Manta’s bridge, but had no place to go.
“We detect sounds of destruction,” the Klikiss robot reported. “They have given up hope of escaping.”
“That is when humans are most dangerous,” Sirix warned. “You must break through and stop them.”
He clacked his sharp pincer claws together for emphasis. A satisfying sensation. While his components were equipped with delicate sensors, they did not approach the sensitivity of biological nerve endings. Even so, he had already experienced the pleasurable sensation of cutting flesh with his appendages, chopping meat and splintering bone, feeling the slick lubricant of fresh warm blood spilled across his ebony exoskeleton. His original Klikiss torturers would have understood very well.
He reached a swift decision. “I will go over to the Manta myself. If humans remain alive there, I will assist you.”
56
ANTON COLICOS
They were going to Hyrillka. Anton stood self-consciously with Yazra’h and Vao’sh in the command nucleus of the flagship warliner; since he was a guest here, he was careful not to get in the way.
More than three hundred ornate ships flew away from Ildira on a mission of mercy. One-eyed Tal O’nh—second in rank only to Adar Zan’nh—led them all. According to what Vao’sh had told Anton, the old commander had lost his left eye in an explosion aboard a warliner when he was merely a septar; O’nh now wore a faceted jewel in his empty socket. The gem’s reflected light provoked more fascination than pity.
Anton suspected that the sheer number of vessels was the Mage-Imperator’s magnanimous way of demonstrating his acceptance of Hyrillka back into the fold. These warliners were not meant as a stern punishment but an acknowledgment of forgiveness. Each ship was full of able-bodied soldiers, talented engineers, much-needed supplies—and Rememberer Vao’sh and Anton Colicos as observers to document it all.
Anton thought his rememberer friend would have avoided traveling ever again after the horrors of Maratha, but Vao’sh needed to see what lost treasures were hidden in the vaults beneath the citadel palace. Besides, the rebuilding and restoration of Hyrillka was something a rememberer should witness. Freed from his travel restrictions, now that he was being sent away from Mijistra, Anton felt like a child who was no longer grounded.
In addition to providing relief supplies and reconstruction workers, the primary reason for the expedition to Hyrillka was to deliver the new Designate who would govern the world. His name was Ridek’h, and he couldn’t have been more than thirteen years old.
Anton’s heart went out to the kid, who waited anxiously with them in the warliner’s command nucleus. Ridek’h always hovered close to Yazra’h, whom the Mage-Imperator had appointed as the boy’s mentor. She devoted most of her attentions to the young man now, which was something of a relief to Anton.
Under normal circumstances, the Mage-Imperator’s noble-born sons were his Designates, assigned to planets across the Ildiran Empire. The rightful Hyrillka Designate had been Pery’h—a well-educated and thoughtful man, according to everything Anton had heard—but Rusa’h had murdered him at the beginning of his rebellion. Now that the uprising had been crushed, the next in line was Pery’h’s young son. Under normal circumstances, the boy would never have had to assume this role. The untimely death of a Designate was rare, and a Designate-in-waiting usually served for years before assuming the mantle of leadership. This time, though, there was no chance for a transition. It was all being dumped on the kid, and Ridek’h was overwhelmed. Anton wouldn’t have wanted to be in his shoes. He preferred observing from the sidelines.
Standing beside them in the command nucleus, Ridek’h peppered Yazra’h with questions even before they had left the Ildiran system. “Do you really think it will be as bad there as they say?” Anton listened to the guard woman dispensing her wisdom and support. Yazra’h was not a political instructor, but she had a strength of character that would serve the young Designate better than a dozen courtly schoolteachers.
“It is as bad as it is,” she said. “You have inherited a burden greater than you ever imagined you might bear, Ridek’h. But it is your burden. Carry it.”
“The people on Hyrillka will help me,” said Ridek’h in a piping, hopeful voice. “Will they not?”
“They are your people, and you are their Designate. You will have anything you need.”
“What if I need strength in my heart?” He looked so impossibly young.
“If it is within my capability to give it to you, Ridek’h, then I will do so. The Mage-Imperator asked me to help you, though I have no experience in formal instruction. Your father would have made an excellent Designate. Now I will do my best to show you how to become a wise leader.”
Anton felt like an eavesdropper, watching the intimate discussion between the two. Ridek’h put on a brave face, swallowed his anxiety with a visible gulp, and took the time to straighten his posture. Anton watched him imitate Yazra’h’s warrior stance. He certainly wanted the young man to succeed.
Vao’sh remained silent and attentive, absorbing details to report back to the Hall of Rememberers. Yazra’h paced aroun
d the command nucleus, restless. Her Isix cats had accompanied them aboard the flagship, but during the journey she kept them in a large cargo chamber, where they would not disturb the crew.
“Tal, we are approaching the Durris trinary,” said the navigator. Normally, the nearby triple-star system held nothing of particular interest, no habitable planets, no gas giants. The three suns of Durris had always shone brightly in the skies of Ildira—until the hydrogues and faeros had extinguished one of them.
Yazra’h looked first at Anton, raising her eyebrows, then at the boy Designate. “This is what we must see. I asked the tal to take this course on purpose.” While the one-eyed commander called for the warliners in the cohort to reduce speed, Yazra’h looked at her young ward. “We should all observe this and remember it.”
Maintaining perfect formation, the warliners closed in on the blot in space. The dead star was dark, still simmering with leftover nuclear reactions, but it had collapsed without the photonic pressure to support its own mass. Anton was not a physicist, and wondered what sort of fundamental changes—what sort of incredible weapons—were required to shut down a sun. Durris-B was no longer a star, just a tombstone.
“It’s frightening,” he muttered.
“And you should be frightened,” Yazra’h said. “See what our enemies are capable of doing.”
Ridek’h stared openmouthed at the image. “How can we stand against an enemy capable of . . . that?”
“The Mage-Imperator will find a way to save us.” Yazra’h raised her voice, not just for Ridek’h’s benefit, but for the entire command nucleus.
Tal O’nh silently touched his hand to his chest where, along with insignia of his accomplishments in the Solar Navy, he had attached a prismatic disk. Anton recognized it as a symbol of the Lightsource. Considering the Ildirans’ innate horror of darkness and blindness, he wasn’t surprised that a man who had already lost one eye would cling to a prismatic icon representing constant light.
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