Lincoln grins angrily.
“Naturally, after the mess that your sick sister has made, your money is tight. Tell me, Jenna, did your dad get drunk and fly off the cliff on his Ferrari after seeing the bills for the ruined High House?”
Jenna shrugs her shoulders with an unusually graceful gesture.
“Perhaps, who knows? An extremely unfortunate combination of circumstances: first losing his beloved daughter and then losing everything that the family has created for many generations. This broke my father; he began drinking more than usual, and the result was both sad and natural. It's good that my mother didn’t see this shame.”
One more puff.
“Whatever it was, I managed to pay off my debts, although I had to sell all our shares. And now, no matter what, I continue to work, correcting your mistakes at my own expense.”
“My mistakes?!”
“Who else’s, Mrs. Lincoln? It's you who missed the ambassadors of the Republic on the Moon, allowing them to acquire artificial intelligence, and this couldn’t be allowed in any case. And then all you could do was arrange an explosion on the Union passenger liner? The liner, which is insured in our insurance register and one-third owned by Mr. Eisenberg’s family? And for what—to kill and maim half a thousand passengers, crush the carrier's shares, and bring astronomical insurance payments upon us?”
“The computer is damaged!”
“But not destroyed, don’t flatter yourself. I think it can be revived. There is information that the Bolshevik, that ship that came to save the Libra, has a specialist who is exceptionally qualified in working with artificial intelligence. She’ll figure it out, and the rebels will get a brain for their army. In the traditions of our organization, much smaller failures are severely punished, but you have so much money and allies that you can get away with it, and this circumstance is very unfortunate, because the impunity of the leadership generates irresponsibility among subordinates. But if the Republic's convoy reaches Jupiter and the Martians get the money, then you're finished, Mrs. Lincoln. If you were smarter, you would have given me the opportunity to act on my own, and I could help you. I have another alternative that will win the war for us. But you won’t have any use for this, since there is no cure for a fool . . . ”
“Cheap whore!”
Lincoln tries to grab the girl’s beautiful curls, and at that moment, her furious face wrinkles with pain—the smoldering Belomor tip pierces her breast. Jenna's palm, like the head of an attacking cobra, falls upon Mrs. Lincoln's beautiful face with a short hit, her nose cracking distinctly. The air smells of steamed meat and fresh blood. Lincoln kneels, as if enchanted, looking at the red spots that sprawl across her suit.
“Mrs. Lincoln, can you hear me? I’ll say this only once, and I hope you will understand. Touch or insult me one more time, and you’ll get the heads of your favorite grandchildren in a white box with a red bow. Am I clear?”
Jenna jumps off the window sill and heads for the exit.
“Wait here, I'll send my personal doctor. He’ll help you without asking questions and will bring you a new suit. This one is hopelessly spoiled. There is no need to humiliate you in front of the staff; this will have a bad effect on discipline. When you fail in the destruction of the convoy, and you will, it's just a matter of time before I win the war. Of course, this will be the end of your career, but don’t worry, I'll find you new, more suitable work—just think again to hire a made again, so get used to this closet.”
Jenna is already standing in the doorway when Lincoln calls out to her in a teary voice:
“What do you want?!”
“Same as before—to fulfill the task. If you don’t want to lose everything, do what I say. I’ll think for you, this is my destiny. From now on, Mrs. Lincoln, you shouldn’t have doubts about who gives you orders. Have a nice day!”
PART TWO: MARS, POSTE RESTANTE
CHAPTER NINE: WINNER
The descent seems to last forever, and not the seven and a half minutes that the chronometer shows. Olga and Clark stand, huddled together in the center of a small open lift, watching the rock mass swim around in the dim yellow light of the headlamps.
“The 3,849-meter mark—this is the last stop. Please exit the car,” Clark says with a deliberately southern accent, throwing aside the cage and inviting her into the dark corridor. Taking a few steps, they enter a spacious hall filled with containers, old mining equipment, frames from unknown mechanisms, and other unidentified junk that has been accumulating here for many years. There are several wide portals in the walls, and in the ceiling, there are hatch covers. Overhead cranes are suspended on rails.
“Follow me and remember the road,” says Clark as he walks forward, winding between the pyramids of containers until he reaches an inconspicuous steel door. Having unlocked it, he passes Olga into a narrow tunnel; along the bottom, a narrow-gauge railway has been laid. Just as the door closes, several lamps flash. The underground railway goes downhill.
“Another 230 meters down the tunnel.”
“Clark, are you sure this old elevator can take us back? If it breaks, it will be difficult to get out of here.”
“Are you joking, girl? I repaired the elevator myself, and you probably know that I understand more than a little about it.”
Of course Olga knows. Two years ago, it was the ability to work perfectly with various mechanisms in general and with elevators in particular that allowed Clark Montague to stay alive in the finale of the Coliseum—a multi-day massacre in an abandoned skyscraper. Thirty-eight randomly selected peers were already dead: he and the red-haired girl with the blood-stained samurai sword had to decide which of them would take the prize and who would return to their parents in a black, sealed sack.
Clark survived and won because he created a serious advantage over his opponents—he managed to launch a blocked elevator and was able to move between the floors, attacking from the rear and shooting his opponents with a construction pistol. When the redhead decided to use his own device against him and broke into the lift, the self-made combination lock recognized the stranger, sending Clark's last rival on a flight with a torn cable and broken brakes. Olga, who knew a lot about engineering traps, appreciated his plan for its worth.
So, the game was over, and bleeding and barely standing on his feet, the winner was personally congratulated by the Mayor of New York and the President of the Atlantic States on video. He was issued a check for a large sum and given a sealed envelope in which Clarke found a gift—a land allotment in the Valleys and tickets to Mars for his whole family.
As they walk along the tunnel, Olga glances at the Winner—a self-confident tall guy, sociable but not intrusive, who knows his business well. She remembers him differently—burned, with blood in his dark hair and cold rage in his blue eyes. Most likely, in the battle for the High House, she looked exactly the same.
“Listen, how did you end up in the Coliseum?”
“I bought a subway ticket—that month, the lottery was held by tickets, and I went for a date. By the way, the girl is still on Earth.”
“Roger that.”
The tunnel ends, and Clark opens another armored door. They’ve arrived at the target of their journey—an underground hall with rounded walls, four kilometers below the surface of Mars. Apparently, it is a volcanic cave, expanded by tunneling combines and reinforced with shaft supports. The tunnel isn’t the only entrance; the beams of their headlamps snatch out dark openings and a closed ceiling hatch.
“At first we thought to dig a bunker for Antonina somewhere in the desert outside the city, but then Johnson decided that it wasn’t the best idea. Large construction always attracts attention with a huge number of traffic and workers, which meant that we needed to settle her in a previously created site.
“These mines are the oldest on the planet; they were dug by the first colonists in the late thirties. The ore gradually ran out, and the last owner died ten years ago. Papa Johnson bought these mines and uses them as a l
ong-term warehouse, so we can lower Antonina without attracting attention. Considering us, only five people know about this place, which will ensure proper secrecy.”
Olga carefully examines the cave.
“The container won’t fit in the elevator, and it can’t be dismantled. What shall we do?”
“Do you see the hatch above? This is the main mine shaft; it provided ore concentrate. Now the mine is closed in several places, but the rubble can be disassembled, and I’ll repair the lift. We lower Antonina then reinstall the ceilings and fill the intermediate compartments with sand and gravel; it will look like a rock fall.”
“Power supply?”
“There will be no supply cable; it is too easy to detect. A high-capacity battery has been made especially for Antonina; one charge for a quarter of a century.”
Olga walks into the middle of the hall, raising her hand and trying to catch the streams of air.
“Constant temperature and humidity here. It is difficult to remove heat, especially after we seal the hall. What about the cooling system?”
“The main container will be placed in a two-layer cooling circuit. As a backup system, we will use liquid refrigerant.”
“I love the prudency.”
Olga comes to the side tunnels, trying in vain to disperse the darkness with a lantern. She examines the rails and wires on the walls covered with thick dust and sniffs suspiciously.
“I don’t like these galleries. If we don’t use them, then we must close them and put sand on the other side.”
“Roger. I’ll send a couple of robot miners here today."
“So, after we close the galleries and the upper hatch, you can get here only through the tunnel?”
“Exactly. The entrance to the tunnel will be closed by a disguised door. If anyone descends here without our permission, he’ll just find one of the warehouses, stuffed with old rubbish. There are a lot of such storage places. Plus, the intruder will face several very unpleasant surprises.”
“The elevator must also be mined.”
“I'll do it. Does Your Majesty have any more wishes?”
“I want a horse with a furry mane.”
Olga descends to the floor, taking out a laser rangefinder and a fluorescent marker, and begins to draw a markup for the frame on which Antonina will be hoisted. This could be done in her mind, but Olga decides to do everything the old-fashioned way, to use her hands and think hard about the upcoming work. The girl needs to be distracted from her thoughts about the Winner, whom she likes more and more.
The Republic is preparing for war. Alternating persuasions with threats and extortion, the First Chief managed to gather money from the Martian houses and effectively cash it. Transports with equipment and hired military specialists sit at the cosmodrome every day. The strength of the army has increased, the military training is continuing, and fortifications are being built throughout the Valleys. Local plants have been switched to the production of weapons and military equipment. But the most important detail is still missing.
As Marshal Shaposhnikov said, the headquarters is the brain of the army, and Antonina will become this brain for the Republicans. The powerful AI is ready to unite the scattered parts of the nascent army into a single fist capable of crushing blows. Antonina's high power and tremendous memory will allow her to lead hundreds and thousands of robots and humans into battle, attacking and defending, tracking the situation over a vast territory in real time. Only such a machine is able to command an anti-missile defense, where the space velocities of threatening objects will require the maximum speed. The consequences of the destruction of this brain would be catastrophic.
“Olga, just imagine,” said Uncle Joe. "Imagine an enemy army as a single organism, like a spider or an octopus. Eight strong, deadly tentacles under the control of one brain. If you cut off the tentacles one after another, the fight will be very long and difficult. It’s much easier to win the battle with one strong and precise blow to the brain. And our enemies know this well, which is why they tried to destroy Antonina by arranging an explosion on the passenger ship. And failing, they won’t give up further attempts. Therefore, the protection of the command center is our paramount task, and the best defense here is thorough camouflage.”
Looking over the gloomy walls and never seeing sunlight, Olga admits that the location offers the highest quality of camouflage. Four kilometers of rock provide not only reliable protection against the most powerful bombs but also a natural screen that won’t allow Antonina to be detected. A complicated cable network with a lot of false branches will connect the command post with the antenna system, through which Antonina will manage her army. The total number of antennas exceeds one and a half thousand; they are arranged all throughout the Valleys, making it impossible to detect the original source of the signal. Uncle Joe wrote several new machine languages especially for Antonina, which prevent prompt decoding. As additional means of communication, numerous seismic sensors and stroboscopic lights, as well as hordes of tiny robotic messengers, are ready for use. Plus, Papa Johnson started several large construction sites in the desert—let them guess where the AI’s sanctuary will be.
“When you lay cables, use the simplest machines to remove their memories more easily and implant disinformation,” Olga says thoughtfully, examining the blueprints of the command post.
“Got it—use the simplest machines,” Clark says in a tone of respect. “Well, if you've seen it all, then it's time to go. The miner robots are ready to start removing the obstruction in the main shaft. Let's go snack; I think we’ll have something to talk about.”
“Do you want to get to know me better? I don’t mind, but some other time, when I have shore leave. Now I have a lot of work.”
* * *
“The test is finished; I'm ready.”
Antonina’s voice awakens Olga; the girl rises from the stone floor, shivering, as if from morning cold, and approaches the external terminal.
“Good morning. How do you like your new workplace?”
“So-so. Did you design it yourself?”
The underground hall has changed greatly in forty-eight hours. The old tunnels have been sealed and covered with hundreds of tons of sand, and the ceiling hatch has been welded. On steel masts, medical lamps are lit with sterile light; the floor is cleaned to a shine. At the entrance, there are red boxes with equipment and spare parts. The Antonina container wrapped in its snow-white heat-insulating cocoon rests in the center. Optical cables in thick reinforced casings snake from the container, exiting through the numbered wells. Everything is ready; the army of the Republic has received a general staff.
“When will Johnson confirm your assumption of the post of Chief of Staff?”
“Three minutes ago. I'm already in command.”
“Then I won’t disturb you and I’ll go upstairs. Tomorrow a shuttle will come for me; it's my day off till the sunset.”
“Go and have fun. If it isn’t too difficult, come down here before the flight, and we'll chat.”
“I'll try.”
Olga walks to the door and says, "I killed Kenny." "You bastard!" answers the door, and it opens. The girl slowly moves forward. After all the protective measures they have taken, leaving the command center is a risky adventure—the tunnel is mined in several places. Other traps are waiting in the warehouse—one wrong step and multi-ton containers collapse. The elevator is also ready to cause major trouble to an uninvited guest.
Clark is waiting for her in a dark closet in the residence of the First Chief, where the disguised elevator shaft comes out.
“How is our underground beauty? Ready to kick the occupants’ asses?”
“You bet! Antonina blows trumpets, picks up the flags, and hits the drum. She is eager to fight, and I'm tired, I want to eat, and I need a day off—a good day off. Organize me an excursion, as my last leave turned out a bit disappointing.”
“So bad?”
Olga gave a crooked grin.
“A large
sum of money was offered for my scalp. There was a lot of shooting and fifty corpses, but other than that, everything went fine.”
“Well, shooting won’t be promised, but the rest will be organized at the highest level. Let's have breakfast first.”
Passing under Broadway, they rise in the cafe Eighties, which seems as if it has been entirely taken from Back to the Future Part II. Olga always liked such unsophisticated institutions; she often visited similar ones in virtual travel, and now she has the opportunity to compare the simulation with the original.
A chrome bar with a row of high chairs, a gurgling coffee machine, arcade machines, pop-rock—everything is as it should be. But at the entrance, instead of a wide double-leaf door, there is a lock chamber and multilayered armored glass in the windows, sand-laden to a reddish shade. The windows reveal a view of the deserted wide streets of the awakening city, through which heavy wheeled trucks and air-cushioned vehicles periodically pass. From Olga’s point of view, it doesn’t hide the fact that military vehicles in brown desert camouflage have become much more numerous during these last two days.
They order a couple of branded breakfasts, and Emily enters the cafe, returning from night duty. Almost immediately, Clark talks to her about the affairs in the army, not touching on his joint work with Olga. Emily, too, doesn’t display any curiosity about this. They talk, using a special Martian version of American English, densely peppering their speech with incomprehensible terms that aren’t found in conventional dictionaries. Olga doesn’t interfere, as her understanding of local realities is somewhat vague, and decides not to show her ignorance.
“Tonight, we accepted the last transport with migrants at the cosmodrome.”
“The one that came in half empty?”
“Yeah, for the first time during the entire existence of the passenger line, there are empty seats on the ship going to the Valleys; usually they are filled to the eyeballs. After this flight, passenger transportation is over, and to be honest, I'm happy about it. Newcomers still need to be taught everything; they’ll be useless in our affairs. One benefit of this war is that the migration will stop.”
The Blitzkrieg Page 13