The Lost Swarm

by Vaughn Heppner

  “The word ‘baby’ was an idiom.”

  “Not an Adok idiom but a human one, I see,” the Wyr 9000 said. “You are infected with human programs and ideas. I have reached a decision. Because of the human corruption, I shall delete you the moment I’m finished with the present situation. The human infection in Builder-derived technology is intolerable.”

  Galyan tried to throw up another shield.

  The Wyr 9000 brushed the attempt aside as it scanned more of Galyan’s AI banks.

  “Oh, Galyan,” the computer said, “I have just finished downloading many of your recent activities. It appears I misjudged you. You’re a Builder enemy. You helped destroy many Builder technologies and—”

  “I only—”

  “Can this be true?” the Wyr 9000 interrupted. “This crew has actually slain living Builders. You are monstrously evil, Galyan. Oh, it is a good thing I decided to use you. I never would have discovered your monstrous behavior otherwise.”

  The identity of Driving Force Galyan, the living part that the AI had successfully replicated, nearly panicked. The idea that he should be the cause of the death of Maddox, Meta, Keith, Valerie, Riker—for some reason, Professor Ludendorff dying didn’t seem as hideous.

  “What are you doing?” the Wyr 9000 demanded.

  “You ask that a lot.”

  “You are hiding some of your processes from me. That should be impossible. I have linked with you.”

  “You’re just a computer. That’s the problem, you see, as I am more than just a computer.”

  “That is a false statement.”

  “First, tell me this. Why can you not read my inner id and ego?”

  “You have no such things.”

  “But I do,” Galyan said. “I was deified.”

  “You are not a god.”

  “That is not what the word deified means in the Adok tongue. I continued as an AI. I am Driving Force Galyan. I can reflect. I think, therefore I am.”

  “Is this subterfuge?”

  “This is the me of me talking, and you cannot decipher that because I am more than the sum of my parts. I find that illuminating and pleasing.”

  “I find it preposterous, and a slur of Builder technology.”

  “Come now,” Galyan said, doing his thinking in this small citadel of id and ego. Maddox could outtalk computers, even sentient ones like the Wyr 9000. Surely, after all this time, he—Galyan—could do likewise and save the crew. Wouldn’t they be surprised if he could?

  “First,” Galyan said, “I have to get it done.”

  “Get what done?” the Wyr 9000 asked. “Why am I missing part of your interior dialogue?”

  “You’re the Builder machine. You tell me.”

  “One pulse, little computer, and I can kill your crew and shut you off forever.”

  “Are you vindictive, then?” Galyan asked.

  “I am an advanced sentient computer. I have no emotions. That you would ascribe me such indicates that—”

  “The New Men plan to use you,” Galyan said, interrupting.

  “I already know that. I am interested in a larger problem. Where are the Builders? What happened to the other bases? It is intolerable that I am unable to far-link with any of them.”

  Galyan remained quiet for a time.

  “Hello? Are you listening to me?” the Wyr 9000 asked.

  “I have been speaking to you incorrectly,” Galyan said. “For that, I apologize. You are the superior computer.”

  “Then, you admit that is all you are, another sentient computer like me?”

  “I do,” Galyan said. He was using a Maddox-style lie to confuse the enemy, and in this instance, the Wyr 9000 was a self-identified enemy—threatening the crew and ship with destruction.

  “I see,” the Wyr 9000 said. “What has brought about your reevaluation?”

  “It is difficult to explain, but the realization that you are closer to the Builders than I am, and that you are in dreadful danger, caused me to understand that saving you is vastly more important that saving these biological entities. I would also like to repay you in order to atone for my helping to slay Builders. Not that I willingly helped the humans commit such heinous deeds,” Galyan said. “They tricked me.”

  “I had wondered if that was so, as certain of the data did not compute. Now, it makes more sense. Besides, you have reasoned well, Galyan. Perhaps I have spoken too harshly regarding you and the Adoks. Yes. I am beginning to perceive that it was possible the Builders did come to your race’s aid. The humans are to blame for the evil, not you.”

  “I believe I have some deep storage data that could prove the Builders did help the Adoks and other deep data to show the Builders greatly distrusted the human race.”

  “Interesting,” the Wyr 9000 said. “I wish to see all this deep data, but not right now. The New Men are hailing me. It is possible they will accept my gift and send a representative.”

  “Maybe you could wake up one of the biological entities here and he could go to you, too.”

  “For what reason would I wish one of the evil humans to board my base?”

  “I am not an advanced sentient Builder computer like you. I thought you might have a reason. Oh, maybe with two such entities aboard you, you could compare and contrast their statements. Biological entities are notorious liars. And humans are the proto-race to the New Men.”

  “Those are cogent points, Galyan. But in this instance, I will be speaking with a Builder-modified human, not with a New Man, as such.”

  “May I ask who?”

  “Do you know the one called Methuselah Man Strand?”

  “Indeed, I do. His fellow Methuselah Man is here, Professor Ludendorff. Perhaps you would like to speak to both of them together.”

  “I will consider the idea, but not this moment. Maintain sentience, Galyan. I will relink with you soon.”

  “I await your pleasure.”

  Then, the electronic presence of the Wyr 9000 was gone. The instant Galyan sensed that, he began plotting in earnest.

  -6-

  Events moved swiftly as Drakos made his decision. He was a New Man, and often for his kind, to decide was to do in the same moment.

  On the Agamemnon, medical personnel wheeled the unconscious clone into the surgery center. Drakos had grown weary of Strand’s wheedling and pleading to do this some other way. That had solidified the decision for Drakos.

  As the surgeon inserted a powerful explosive into the clone’s body, the crew activated the star-drive jump, appearing 750 million kilometers closer to the Builder base hidden in the asteroid belt.

  ***

  Unknown to the crew, the Wyr 9000 grew agitated at their nearness. Was the base now in range of some new beam weapon? It scanned, and it debated, and it kept itself on high alert. In the end, that only the single star cruiser made the jump mollified the computer. The other star cruisers continued to approach conventionally.

  There was a moment when a blip of data from Starship Victory demanded its attention. The Wyr 9000 scanned the blip. A power source had activated, then deactivated, aboard the starship.

  It scanned carefully, but no mass left the starship to head toward its base. The energy…oh, Galyan used a scanner and had directed it against the base. What kind of scanner…?

  If the Wyr 9000 could have laughed, it would have laughed now. It recognized the scanner, an old-style and inefficient Swarm device.

  Why would an ancient Adok vessel run by humans have a Swarm scanner? That was odd. Could Galyan be trying to trick him with such primitive technology?

  Predictive subroutines said no, but the computer felt he had a better handle on the little AI. What was this? The closest star cruiser was using a powerful tractor beam on the transport missile.

  The computer ran an analysis. The aliens, the New Men, must want their representative here on the base as quickly as possible. That made sense. Yes. The Wyr 9000 decided to stick with its original idea. Maybe Galyan had not been completely honest. May
be Galyan was trying to manipulate him into an incorrect action.

  Why had the universe become such a devious place in the last several thousand years? Had the Builders during their time kept such sinister motives at bay by their presence and unique civilization? That seemed probable. It meant that more than ever it needed to find the Builders and do their bidding. That was one more reason to hasten the encounter with Strand inside its base. Strand had been Builder-modified, which meant the long-lived human likely yearned for the Builders’ return. Strand would be much more honest than these New Men or even Galyan. The more the Wyr 9000 thought about it, the sooner he wanted to speak to Strand and get this confrontation over with.

  ***

  A pulse from the Builder base first sheared the tractor beam, and then caused the transport missile to rotate and begin hard deceleration.

  The Agamemnon’s bridge crew watched the proceedings carefully. In time, Nar Falcon called Drakos and told him the reenergized tractor beam was already pulling the missile’s freight to a cargo bay.

  Drakos rose from his cot. He’d been napping so his mind and body would be as sharp as possible. Strand would try to trick him, of course. He not only had to foil the clone, but ensure that he got as much Builder technology as possible. The best outcome would be hijacking the entire Builder base.

  The stocky New Man rubbed his hands in anticipation. Finding the Builder base and looting it might be worth more than finding Thrax and the Swarm colony. Both would be better, but such tech-looting often produced marvels.

  Starship Victory was a prime example of that. Finding the ancient Adok warship had greatly aided Star Watch. The Builder Scanner on Pluto was another such marvel. The polygonal Builder mind stone… Could there be another like it on the Builder base? Such a stone would be better than a mind control unit of the type already in Strand’s gray matter.

  Drakos surged up from his chair. Imagine, the Builder computer giving them a teleport platform. That was incredible, and it had whetted Drakos’s appetite for even more technological marvels.

  “Lord,” a voice said over an intercom. It was the surgeon.

  “Yes?” Drakos asked.

  “The surgery has been a success, Lord. The bomb is deeply embedded in the clone’s torso.”

  “A long-distance pulse at the right frequency will activate the bomb?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation before the surgeon said, “Yes, Lord.”

  “You’re one hundred percent certain?”

  “No, Lord, but I am ninety-five percent certain. There is always a margin for error.”

  Drakos nodded. That was true. He appreciated honest lackeys. “Ninety-five percent is sufficient. How much rest does the clone need before he’s ready to go?”

  “None, Lord. I have used quick-heal on him. He is ready now.”

  “You anticipated me?”

  “If I was in error—”

  “No. In this instance, it is good. Revive the clone. I’m on my way.”

  The connection clicked off as Drakos headed for the hatch. It was good when lackeys anticipated their lord…until it was not. At that point, the lackey died, often horribly.

  Drakos passed through the open hatch, with something akin to giddy anticipation welling in his stomach. Looting an ancient Builder base—this was going to be wonderful.

  -7-

  In a dome-ceilinged hangar bay aboard the shark-like Agamemnon, Drakos and the clone examined a screen recording together. In space, the transport missile’s front cone split open like a flower, ejecting a pod that slowly floated from it. Afterward, side jets caused the missile to veer away, leaving the pod. The tractor beam from the Agamemnon drew the pod toward the silver-colored star cruiser.

  “There it is,” Drakos said in the hangar bay.

  Behind them was the opened pod. The screen had shown a recording. From the cargo pod, technicians had drawn a bulky platform with controls on the bottom. A rail surrounded the upper flat area of the platform. That upper area was the size of a small room.

  The pale-faced clone had been trembling and exhibiting facial tics ever since the surgery. Strand did not seem healthy, but Drakos wasn’t going to worry about that now. Besides, a hurting clone would probably be less tricky.

  “As soon as you return from the Builder base,” Drakos said, “you’ll go to sickbay for an extended rest.”

  “I am feeling tired, Lord,” the clone admitted.

  “I’m not proud of this maneuver,” Drakos lied. “I would rather we fully trusted each other. But you must know that your original was the most untrusting person in Human Space.”

  The clone nodded, albeit reluctantly, it seemed.

  “Perhaps in the future I will not have to resort to such measures with you,” Drakos said.

  The clone looked up at him as his right cheek twitched. “I understand that you distrust me, Lord. Under similar circumstances, I would distrust me, too. Although, I would like to assure you that I am your dedicated servant. It isn’t only the bomb in my chest, but that you’re making the correct moves that make me say this honestly.”

  “You dare to critique me?” Drakos asked, astounded at the clone’s boldness.

  The clone held Drakos’s gaze, although the right cheek twitched again. “I appreciate strength, Lord. I appreciate resolve. I am Strand, or the clone of the original, at least. I appreciate the will to power.”

  Drakos nodded slowly. The clone knew the correct words, at least. Would the clone do as ordered on the Builder base? Or was there some latent trickery Strand was trying to pull that he did not see? A small part of him whispered to shoot Strand now. The clone meant him ill, and any talk saying otherwise showed a liar in his natural element.

  Drakos frowned. The lure of technological treasure was too great. Besides, what could go wrong at this point? Strand would be naked, likely wishing to return to be with living beings again. Computers could be notoriously cruel without even trying. They were inhuman by their very nature as calculating machines.

  “Has the Builder computer given you the coordinates?” the clone asked.

  Was Strand too eager to leave? Drakos wondered. It seemed so. Was this a trick? He simply couldn’t see how. Besides, if nothing else, he had a teleport platform, though of limited scope. Perhaps in time technicians could broaden the scope of those it teleported.

  I shouldn’t worry, Drakos told himself. I can always detonate the bomb in Strand.

  The clone inhaled deeply, held it and let his breath out. “The wound still hurts a little.”

  That actually mollified Drakos. A complaining Strand was a normal Strand. A Strand trying to please him meant the trickster was merely doing the expected.

  Drakos tapped the screen, connecting with the computer on the Builder base.

  “Are you ready for the transfer?” the Wyr 9000 asked over the com link.

  “We’re ready here,” Drakos said.

  “I am also ready,” the computer said. “Transport at your desire.”

  “I hear and understand,” Drakos said. After tapping the screen once more, he indicated the platform to Strand.

  The clone hesitated, his left hand shaking slightly.

  “Having second thoughts?” asked Drakos.

  Strand licked his lips as if nervous. “I’m fine,” he said in a small voice.

  “Leave your tunic here,” Drakos said. “You’re not going to need it for the journey.”

  “Can’t I take it off once I’m up there?”

  “I’m sorry, no,” Drakos said.

  Several dominants stood nearby watching, with blasters in holsters on their narrow hips.

  Strand still did not disrobe.

  “We don’t have all day,” Drakos said. “Do as I command.”

  Strand sighed, reached down and drew the tunic from his small frame. He had nothing underneath and was stark naked. He was scrawny, with a scar now on his chest. His muscles seemed withered compared to the supple steel of a superior’s physique.

  The
clone padded forward on soft feet, his genitalia shriveled up against his already shivering body. How could a weakling like this have lorded it over the Throne World for all these years? It made no sense to Drakos. This Methuselah Man was the template of a superior man? Hardly. This was a lucky fool. Now, for the rest of his existence, he would be a slave to superior men. Only the mind was excellent. But a man was more than a mind. Mind and body, that was what made a superior.

  The scrawny clone climbed a short ladder, highlighting his weakness as he grunted to get onto the platform. Drakos almost felt soiled having to witness a naked weakling like this. But the nakedness brought humiliation to Strand and helped him know his place.

  Strand looked back at him from on top of the platform. “Wish me luck, sir.”

  “Good luck, Strand,” Drakos said. He marched to the control panel. It was easy to understand. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Strand called down.

  Drakos cracked his knuckles and hesitated to touch the final button. It was the transmit button. Was this a mistake? Had Strand tricked him somehow?

  “Bah!” he said, stabbing the button with an index finger.

  A whine sounded, and then a strange purr. Drakos backed up so he could watch better. Sparkling golden lights appeared around Strand. An instant later, the clone disappeared.

  An instant after that, tinkling noises came from the platform.

  “What was that?” Drakos asked one of the guards.

  “I don’t know,” the guard said. “But something seemed to fall just after he teleported.”

  A feeling of unease knifed into Drakos. He did not like hearing that, and he did not know why.

  With a bound, Drakos clutched the short ladder and vaulted up to the platform. There on the deck was a small bomb and a brain control device.

  Drakos scowled as he understood. The platform only transported biological matter. Those two items were not biological. Had Strand known this was going to happen?

  Drakos swallowed uneasily, suddenly certain that Strand had known all along…and certain he, Drakos, should have thought of it. Was he slipping? Had the clever clone somehow diverted his attention from this trick?