The AI War Part 11

"You'll have the chance," said L'Wrona.

Suddenly the control panel and cabin lights winked off, as did the corridor lights. With a whine of dying n-gravs, the shuttle plunged toward the deck.

"Brakes!" shouted L'Wrona, throwing his arms across his face as they slammed into the deck.

"Negative!" cried D'Trelna, pulling back on the useless control stick.

Metal screaming, sparks flying, the shuttle spun down the corridor, angling toward the left wall. Egg's tendrils snapped back out, touching the controls.

Part of the instrument panel came alive again as the shuttle rose for an instant, then settled jerkily on its landing struts.

"My energy reserves are exhausted," whispered the slaver machine. Its light tendrils disappeared. With them went the brief burst of power that had saved the shuttle.

"Damper field," said D'Trelna weakly. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, he unbuckled and stood, peering into the utter darkness of the corridor. "What happened to K'Tran?"

"Alternate course plotted and set," said A'Tir, looking up from the shuttle's complink.

"Time to lose Fats and friends," said K'Tran, glancing at the course plot. "Next main intersection."

The damper field hit just as they turned. Their shuttle's systems failed for an instant, touched by the field's edge, then came back on as they moved down the side corridor.

"Now that's timing," grinned K'Tran.

"Think they've had it?" asked A'Tir.

K'Tran shrugged, eyes on the corridor. "Two very capable officers, D'Trelna and L'Wrona. And backed by ten of their best commandos. Don't count them out, Number One. But with luck, they and the R'Actolians will occupy each other till it's too late."

"Anyone hurt?" asked L'Wrona. He stood beside D'Trelna in the shuttle's pa.s.senger section.

"No," said S'Til. The commandos were out of their seats, taking the battlelamps S'Til was distributing from the aft storage area. The dim glow of six battery-powered lights provided a faint light. "Damper field?" she asked, handing each of the two senior officers a lamp.

"Probably," said D'Trelna, clipping the lamp to his belt.

Drawing her Mil A, S'Til set the beam low, pointed the muzzle at the roof and pulled the trigger. There was a faint click. "Damper field," she nodded. "Defense perimeter?" she asked L'Wrona.

The captain nodded. "Knives against whatever's out there. If we have to, we'll take that bridge on foot, bare-handed."

And club whatever to death with our boots, thought D'Trelna. "Surely not bare-handed," he said.

The arms locker was set into the bulkhead to the right of the airlock. Going to it, D'Trelna entered the combination on its keypad. Nothing happened. "Get that open," he ordered S'Til, jerking a thumb at the locker.

It only took her a moment, deftly jiggling her blade between locker panel and lock. The door gave with a snap. S'Til slid the door back, then stepped back with a delighted cry. Behind her, a commando whistled appreciatively as lamp beams washed across the arms racks.

"Your commodore provides," said D'Trelna, sweeping his own light over the rows of stacked M16's and Uzis. "You do know how to use them?" he asked S'Til.

"We didn't waste our time on Terra," she said, pa.s.sing out the weapons. "Plenty of ammunition," she added, nodding at the crates stacked beneath the racks.

"Indeed," said D'Trelna. Glancing at the boxes, he fleetingly wondered what 5.56MM NATO meant.

"You sly swamp d'astig, D'Trelna," said L'Wrona, handing the commodore an Uzi. "How'd you know?"

"I didn't," said D'Trelna. "Contingency planning."

"Keep your M11A's," ordered S'Til. Chambering a round, she clicked off her M16's safety. "And follow me," she said, pressing the airlock override. As the double doors hissed open, S'Til leaped out into the darkness of the mindslaver.

Egg had landed them at the intersection of four main corridors, a s.p.a.ce half the size of a sports field. The area looked even wider than it was, there in the light from the battle torches.

Walking in a slow circle around the shuttle, D'Trelna looked down each of the great pa.s.sageways, straining to see beyond the cone of yellow light. L'Wrona walked silently beside him, machine pistol at the ready.

"Do you know the tale of the four corners of h.e.l.l, H'Nar?" asked the commodore as they walked around the front of the shuttle.

D'Trelna was surprised to see the captain smile. "One of my father's favorites. The merchant prince A'Lan rescues some tedious woman ..."

"T'Sar . . ."

"Rescues T'Sar from the demon P'Kul, in the very heart of h.e.l.l. Pursued, A'Lan and T'Sar lose their way and come to the four corners of h.e.l.l. P'Kul and his pack are at their heels. Before them, three dark, uncertain roads. Two, they know, lead back to h.e.l.l. The third, to life, but only for the living."

"And A'Lan chooses the one least traveled on," said D'Trelna, "and of course they emerge into the land of life. A parable on the road-least-traveled."

The captain looked at the two corridors to his right and left. "Not many footprints in the battlesteel, J'Quel."

"We'll take the road least traveled, H'Nar," said D'Trelna as they rejoined S'Til beside the airlock. "We will advance on foot to the bridge."

"And where is the bridge?" asked L'Wrona.

D'Trelna waved vaguely toward the bridge corridor. "Up there, somewhere. Egg said it wasn't far. I want Harrison alive and that commwand in my hand when we leave."

"As the commodore orders," said L'Wrona. He turned to S'Til, who stood frowning, her head c.o.c.ked. "We'll proceed on foot from here, Lieutenant. Have-"

She stopped him with upraised hand. "Listen," she whispered.

They listened, not hearing it at first. "Feet," said L'Wrona after a moment. "There," he nodded at the corridor they were about to use.

"Many feet," said D'Trelna, c.o.c.king his head. "Moving quickly, but not in time."

"You a.s.sume they're feet," said L'Wrona.

9.

"There's no reason I should trust you," said John.

"My timely warning," said the blonde, hand to heart, "saved this galaxy from the AIs, when they'd infiltrated Terra Two."

"After you and your green slime horde wiped out millions of people, trying to take the galaxy for yourselves!" John felt his face flush.

"Not coming for fata, certainly," said D'Trelna, un-slinging his Uzi.

"Deploy!" ordered L'Wrona. "S'Til," he said as the commandos took up position around the shuttle, "get a hover-flare up."

Ducking into the shuttle, the commando officer came back with a short-barreled weapon. Scrambling up the access ladder to the roof, she dropped into the p.r.o.ne firing position, aimed carefully down the corridor and squeezed the trigger.

Whirring faintly, something floated away from the shuttle. A hundred meters out, it flared to life, lighting the corridor bright as a desert noon-the corridor and the gray-uniformed shapes charging down it, bayonet-fixed rifles held high.

"G.o.ds of my fathers," whispered D'Trelna, staring.

"Imperial Marines," said L'Wrona, equally stunned.

Their surprise stolen, the attackers broke into screams- high-pitched, heart-stopping, utterly inhuman screams.

"Once, maybe," shouted D'Trelna as the a.s.sault closed. "Part of Alpha Prime Alpha Prime now." now."

"Fire!" cried L'Wrona.

The S'Cotar chuckled, leaning back in its chair. "I like you, Harrison. You're one of life's innocents-defend the good, defy the wrong. You have the gift of unambiguous perception."

"There's no reason I should trust you," repeated John.

Guan-Sharick shrugged. "I'll level, as you like to say." The blonde held out a palm. "Your life is here, Harrison. Help me, or . . ." The hand became a fist.

"You'd kill me, after going to so much trouble to save me?"

"No," said the S'Cotar. "I'd leave you here, alone. You'd be tracked down and brainstripped within the hour.'' A long elegant finger circled the cranium. "Plop! Into the pod with the brain, and into component reserve with the body."

"Component reserve?" said John uneasily.

"Resource management," said the S'Cotar. "Brain power runs the s.h.i.+p, brainstripped bodies defend it. But with a twist: The original minds still control their original bodies, when those components are activated."

"Grotesque."

"But efficient," said Guan-Sharick. "Who could operate a body better than its original occupant? Besides, it provides superb catharsis for the mindslaves-a brief end to the sensory deprivation that drives so many of them mad, yet gives the s.h.i.+p its unique capabilities. A chance to breathe, walk, eat, smell, fornicate, kill-humanity's rai-son d'etre."

"Big Brother monitors all of this?"

"Of course," nodded the S'Cotar. "But the R'Actolians only provide mission direction. They won't interfere so long as the components don't damage the s.h.i.+p, eat what they kill and generally clean up after themselves. Then it's back to the cryonics tank till the next frolic."

John cleared his throat. "How can I help you?"

Standing, the S'Cotar drew its side arm and extended it to John, b.u.t.t first. "Help all of us. Get rid of T'Lan."

The Terran's hand halted halfway to the weapon. "With a pistol? Does it fire nuclear warheads?"

"Take it," said Guan-Sharick, wrapping the man's fingers around the grips.

Dubiously John examined the weapon, turning it in his hands. It was smaller than the K'Ronarin blasters, perfectly balanced and cast of some gleaming silver alloy. There was a small triangular device set high in the left grip: silver s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p, golden sun, and three perfect blue eyes in each corner. A small golden "2" was etched above the sun.

' "That's the symbol of the AIs,'' said the Terran, holding the weapon close. "The Fleet of the One." As he peered at the device, the three eyes seemed to catch the light, reflecting it back in a brief burst of white. John almost dropped the weapon, blinking, his eyes tearing. "What the h.e.l.l . . ."

"A thing of power," said the S'Cotar. "Now it knows you."

"Knows me?"

Guan-Sharick sighed. "I don't have time to tell you, Harrison. You probably wouldn't believe me anyway. That weapon's a totem, sort of, part of the long and intricate chain of causality between organic and inorganic life."

"And the symbol?" said John, carefully touching the triangle. It was warm. "You're giving me an AI weapon to kill an AI?"

The blonde head shook. "No. The weapon and the symbol predate the Fleet of the One. The AIs have adopted the symbol. And you're not killing T'Lan-you're doing something worse to him."

"Why not do it yourself?" asked John, more confused than enlightened.

"I can't," said Guan-Sharick. "There's something about T'Lan's s.h.i.+eld that distorts my senses, my abilities-you're the only one who can get close enough. Remember, weakness can be a strength-T'Lan's dismissed you as a threat."

"Bull," said John, tucking the weapon into his belt. "How do I get there?"

"I'll flick you down, just outside the bridge, away from the command tier. Beware-an AI doesn't need a weapon-it fires through its eyes."

"Great."

The S'Cotar vanished, reappearing a very long moment later. "D'Trelna's come in after you," it said quickly. "He's under attack. I'll do what I can for them. Listen carefully. The commwand will be in or on the command console-it's a small, white cylinder. Shoot T'Lan and get the commwand to Implacable." Implacable."

"And nothing else matters? What about D'Trelna and his group?"

"Much else matters," said the blonde. "But not to you, not now."

"But D'Trelna ..."

"Harrison, there's no time for this! Without the commwand, there's no Trel Cache. No Trel Cache, no weapon. No weapon, the AIs win and we become just two more failed species. Death is forever. Luck to you."

The Council Chamber was empty.

"Die," hissed D'Trelna, teeth gritted. "Die! Die!" He stood between L'Wrona and S'Til, punctuating each word with a burst from his Uzi.

The ping and whine of ricochets mingled with the sound of boots thundering down the deck and the chatter of automatic weapons' fire. The pungent odor of cordite filled the air. To D'Trelna, it smelled like fear.

"Kee-yaaaaa!" The scream of the bayonet a.s.sault rang down the corridor as the components closed, oblivious to the gunfire ripping into their charge, leaping their undead as they closed on the K'Ronarins. The scream of the bayonet a.s.sault rang down the corridor as the components closed, oblivious to the gunfire ripping into their charge, leaping their undead as they closed on the K'Ronarins.

Cursing, palms slippery with sweat, D'Trelna fumbled another magazine into the Uzi, looking up just as the surviving components crashed into the K'Ronarin line. He had a brief impression of close-cropped hair, Imperial collar badges and hate-contorted faces. Then he was sidestepping, dodging a bayonet thrust at his heart. Moving, the commodore fired, putting a burst into what looked like a corporal.

The component dropped, its heart shredded. Even before its body crumpled, all animation had fled, leaving that strong, blunt face a slack-jawed, empty husk, the mind fleeing the pain to the armored safety of its distant brainpod.

D'Trelna didn't notice, whirling at the warning, "J'Quel! Left!"

An NCO was almost on top of him, smiling maniacally as he swung a rifle b.u.t.t at the commodore's head. Sidestepping, D'Trelna fired one-handed. The burst went high, punching through the eyes, exploding the empty skull with a dull plop! plop! Horrified, he watched open-mouthed as the component, blinded but still grinning madly beneath ruined eyes and forehead, nimbly reversed its rifle and began thrusting blindly in an arc from its last position. Horrified, he watched open-mouthed as the component, blinded but still grinning madly beneath ruined eyes and forehead, nimbly reversed its rifle and began thrusting blindly in an arc from its last position.