A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Read online

  “What is it then?” Walleye snapped.

  “Three cyberships, Lieutenant. Those are three cyberships, not just one. The AIs are invading with a flotilla this time, not just a lone vessel.” Methlan shook his head. “All our hard work—it’s undone. We’re doomed.”

  -9-

  Over the next few days, Methlan raged in his heart at the recklessness of fate. He’d died in his home star system; he had no idea how long ago. Before he’d died, he’d gone under a brain-tap machine. That machine had ended up in the Nathan Graham.

  He’d had a second chance at life when he’d returned once before in a Neptunian named Da Vinci. Jon Hawkins had slain that host body in order to kill him.

  Then, Eli Gomez had downloaded Methlan’s thought-patterns into his human brain. He was alive again, the greatest leader of Janus House. He’d almost been ready to slaughter Walleye for honor and so he could fulfil his desires with June Zen. Then, he would have taken command of the destroyer and found a way to defeat whatever remained on Senda, if any robots still resided there.

  Methlan’s plan had been simple. He would build a hyperdrive in the destroyer and return to the Ten Worlds. He would drive off the conquering AIs, if they yet remained, and he would gather his people, turning them into a fighting force of avengers.

  Now, none of that mattered. Three cyberships had dropped out of hyperspace. They moved at an incredible velocity, heading in the destroyer’s general direction. Walleye had refused to shut down the main reactor and hope the big AI ships passed them by. Instead, the fool tried to accelerated fast enough to reach Makemake before the cyberships did. That was a suicide mission.

  Ninety minutes later on the bridge, Methlan studied his console. His worst fear had materialized. Walleye should have heeded him. He decided it was time to tell the others the bad news.

  “One of the cyberships appears to have changed its heading,” Methlan informed Walleye. “At this point, given their extreme distance from us, it’s difficult to tell. But I believe one of the vessels has focused directly on us.”

  The freak actually came to his station. He studied Methlan’s board. Finally, he returned to the command chair.

  Turning back to Methlan, Walleye said, “Detach the last drone.”

  “Lieutenant—”

  “Detach the drone,” Walleye repeated. “We’re not going down without a fight.”

  “But there’s no good reason for doing that. We obviously cannot destroy a hundred kilometer-cybership with a Hercules drone.”

  “So what?”

  “So it is futile to launch the drone in that case.”

  “Wrong,” Walleye said. “It could scratch paint on the ship.”

  Methlan cocked his head. Had the appearance of the cyberships unhinged the freak’s mind? Why launch while the enemy vessel was so far away?

  “I hope to hurt whoever kills me,” Walleye explained. “If I can’t hurt them, I’ll try to bite them. If that isn’t possible, I want to do something to show they’ve been in a battle with me.”

  “Scratching paint is doing something?” Methlan asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That is a strange philosophy.”

  “Whatever it is, it’s mine,” Walleye declared.

  Methlan glanced at his board. He pretended to make adjustments. Finally, he turned around again. “It’s far too soon for us to act so decisively. Despite its great velocity, the cybership needs time to cross one thousand AUs. We should wait to see what exactly the cybership plans to do. According to the sensors, they haven’t launched anything at us yet. There is still plenty of time to study them. Why throw away our last offensive asset? You were correct in keeping the drone. Now, let us use it wisely.”

  Walleye looked up at the ceiling. He tapped a foot. Finally, he regarded Methlan. “Do you know, that may be your first piece of advice worth following?”

  Methlan scowled.

  “We’ll hold our fire for now,” Walleye said. “We’ll wait and see what happens next.”

  Time passed—days.

  June detected comm messages radiating from the AI-held dwarf planet. The messages were machine fast and impossible to translate. It seemed clear that something on Senda was attempting to communicate with the cyberships. Naturally, given the limitations of the speed of light, it would take time for the messages to reach the distant ships. In fact, it would take approximately 138 hours for a light-speed message to travel one thousand AUs. That was 5.7 days.

  Despite the limitations, several hours later, two cyberships subtly shifted their direction of travel. It seemed they headed for Makemake. More precisely, they headed for where Makemake would be once they arrived.

  “The Senda message can’t have reached the cyberships yet,” June said.

  “Hyperdrive and hyperspace don’t follow the rules of physics as we know them,” Walleye said. “Maybe the Senda AIs used a different communication process.”

  “Then, why did we detect it as a normal if encrypted comm message?” June asked.

  “That’s a good point,” Walleye said. “Maybe the cyberships noticed something amiss in their scan of Makemake.”

  “Supposing the Senda message hasn’t reached the cyberships yet,” June said, “it will in time. Either way, I think whatever is on Senda is telling or will tell the cyberships that the original AI attack failed in this system.”

  “Because of the message, we know one other thing,” Walleye said. “Robots must still be on Senda.” He drummed his stubby fingers on an armrest. “At the cyberships’ present speeds, and even given the distance we have to cover, we’ll never outrun them to Makemake. We might beat the one coming for us if we head toward Senda now.”

  “Why would we go to Senda?” Methlan asked.

  “For the obvious reason,” Walleye said. “We’ll use Senda as a shield. That’s in case the cybership launches missiles at us. If the cybership wants to destroy us, it will have to slow down in order to maneuver around the dwarf planet and use its beams on us. The cybership can’t just destroy us in passing, as it were.”

  “Hide and seek,” Methlan said.

  “There’s another reason,” Walleye said. “We still have a big old missile. The robots are our enemies. If I can’t hurt the cyberships, I can still possibly destroy the Senda robots.”

  Surprisingly, Methlan found himself in agreement with the freak, although he kept that to himself.

  The destroyer changed heading. They still accelerated, but not as hard as before. They would have to save something for the massive deceleration at the end. They could stop and maneuver a little at Senda. They weren’t going to do anymore deep space traveling until they found more fuel—that is, if they lived through the encounter.

  Methlan spent hours studying the situation. Two of the enemy ships sped for Makemake. The last cybership followed the destroyer. Methlan made computations, worried over theories and grew increasingly desperate in his heart. Who knew if he would ever have a chance at life again?

  “No,” Methlan whispered.

  What was wrong with him? He’d tossed aside his honor as it if was a filthy rag. He’d forgotten about his shock-de-cri. It was time to force a showdown, to begin the ritual.

  Abruptly, Methlan swiveled around in his seat. “June is right. The cyberships know about the Nathan Graham at MK2.”

  Walleye did not respond. He almost seemed to ignore him.

  “We have to flee somewhere other than Senda,” Methlan said. “Do you think Hawkins is going to stay at MK2? No. He has to run. We have to run, too. I suggest we stop heading in-system and move in as lateral a direction as possible. The cybership chasing us will likely leave us alone then. By heading toward Senda, we might be forcing it to chase us.”

  Walleye still said nothing.

  That was not according to form, and that exasperated Methlan. “Did you hear what I said? Hawkins is going to run.”

  Walleye swiveled the command chair toward him. “That’s Captain Hawkins to you,” the freak said. />
  “Why does the title matter now?”

  Walleye kept staring at Methlan as he pointed at June. The lovely Miss Zen pressed a switch on her comm panel. There was a crackle in a speaker. Then, the voice of Mentalist Gloria Sanchez came through.

  “Lieutenant Walleye,” the mentalist said. It must have been a recording. “Due to your diligence and observations, we have rechecked several matters. It appears that we have made a terrible mistake. Without your insights, I don’t believe we would have ever figured it out until it was too late. You must continue to watch Eli Gomez carefully. I find that I must agree with you that he went under the brain-tap machine. His physical frailty earlier and his distance from—that doesn’t matter now. Thank you, Walleye. Continue to watch him carefully. Like you, I don’t think Eli is who he used to be.”

  June clicked off the recording.

  Methlan felt lightheaded. How could Walleye, of all people, have seen what others missed?

  “When did the message come?” Methlan asked.

  “Several days ago.”

  “You’ve been watching me?”

  “Didn’t you listen? I’ve been watching you for some time. Some of the things you said never made sense. Finally, the answer came to me. If you must know, your recognition of the hyperdrive exit started me thinking. I had June radio my suspicions to MK2. The mentalist confirmed my suspicions. Now, you know what she thinks.”

  The lightheadedness became anger. Then a realization struck. “Did you bug my quarters?” Methlan asked in outrage.

  “Your knife thrusts were the clincher,” Walleye said. “I didn’t think much of your posing routine, though.”

  “That was an invasion of privacy,” Methlan declared.

  Walleye snorted. “A technological ghoul like you dares to complain about that?”

  Methlan scowled and then realized what Walleye meant. “I am not responsible for the ghoulishness. Eli Gomez went under the brain-tap machine of his own free will.”

  Walleye shrugged.

  Methlan struggled for self-control. He must complete the ritual. “What were you going to do with me?” he demanded.

  “Does it matter?” Walleye asked. “The cyberships are coming. I can compute speeds and distances as well as the next man. Eli was a bastard according to what I’ve learned. You’re welcome to his body. The captain would like to know who you are, though. What’s your real name?”

  Methlan hesitated until a burst of pride gushed forth. He could no longer hold back the shock-de-cri. “I am Methlan Rath of Janus House.”

  “You’re pretty important, I take it?”

  Methlan ripped open his jacket, causing buttons to bounce off the deck-plates. He tore the dagger from where it was taped to his chest.

  Walleye merely raised his eyebrows.

  “I am sick of your domineering manner,” Methlan declared. “Today, I will wash away your insults with your blood.”

  So saying, Methlan charged, reading himself for a gutting sweep.

  The mutant swept back his buff coat, drew an obscenely heavy gun and fired. A black object blew out of the outrageous barrel. Methlan attempted to dodge. The blob hit him and expanded with a sticky-sounding noise. The webs entangled him, sticking and shrinking hard. It pulled his legs together and his arms in toward his body. He released the kill-dagger just in time. It tinkled as it hit the deck, and slid out of the way. That was good, because Methlan thudded onto the deck, ensnared by the mutant’s treacherous tangler shot.

  For a time, Methlan struggled. That only tightened the threads. Soon, he could hardly breathe. He choked—

  “Easy there, Methlan,” Walleye said.

  Methlan realized the mutant was speaking into his ear. “Release me,” he roared. “This is unseemly.”

  “Relax. I want to ask you a few questions. I’m going to send the answers to Captain Hawkins.”

  “I despise the man. I will gain my revenge on him and on you. Of this, you can be assured.”

  Walleye shook his head. “The cybership is coming. Do you think I’m going to let the AIs capture us? No. I’m not going to let them put a slave control in my brain. If you have a great idea, though, I’d like to hear it.”

  Methlan silently raged. He’d taken too long. He should have practiced the ancient rituals sooner.

  Walleye straightened and turned to June. “We’ll keep heading for Senda. We’ll keep talking to the captain. And our alien here might remember something important. What do you think about that, Methlan?”

  “Release me and we can talk.”

  Walleye studied him a few seconds longer before turning to the main screen.

  “Three cyberships…” Walleye shook his head. “In the end, the AIs didn’t give us much time to get ready for the second wave, did they?”

  “Captain Hawkins will think of something,” June said.

  Walleye searched her face. “I hope you’re right, Luscious, I truly do.”

  PART IV

  THE KUIPER BELT

  -1-

  Jon Hawkins ran the back of his hand across his mouth as he hurried to the conference chamber in MK2’s fifth sector. He strode through a deep tunnel corridor. These were composed of moon-rock without any metal sheathing. The robots who had hollowed out the moon must have thought of corridor sheathing as a needless luxury, if they’d thought about it all.

  Uncharacteristically, Jon looked as anxious as he was.

  The showdown with the AIs was coming much sooner than anyone had expected. Three cyberships had dropped out of hyperspace a little over one thousand AUs away. They now headed in-system, two of them coming for Makemake and the other zeroing in on Senda.

  The last few days had been hectic. And if all that wasn’t enough, Walleye had confirmed the worst. Eli Gomez had made it into the brain-tap chamber several months ago. The madman had downloaded the Prince of Ten Worlds into his head.

  “No wonder I thought I’d recognized him,” Jon muttered.

  He recalled the prince’s threat at the end of Da Vinci’s bodily life. The prince had told Jon his life was forfeit. It had seemed laughable at the time. It wasn’t laughable any more. The prince’s name was Methlan Rath of Janus House.

  Jon shook his head. The videos from the Daisy Chain 4 had been plain weird. Eli’s—Methlan’s dancelike rituals before his mirror had a haunting quality. They had certainly been alien. According to Walleye, the alien had kept a dagger strapped to his chest for many weeks already.

  From everything Jon had read, this Prince of Ten Worlds manifestation hadn’t seemed as cunning or ruthless as the first time he’d downloaded into Da Vinci. What accounted for the difference?

  Once more, Jon shook his head. He had to forget about Methlan Rath. The alien of House Janus wasn’t important right now. Deciding how to deal with three cyberships took precedence over everything.

  Did Methlan destroy the moon supplies? He was free then. He had motive—

  Jon smacked a fist into his other palm. The prince must have been responsible for the moon sabotage. This Methlan Rath had thrown a monkey wrench into the Nathan Graham’s refurbishing. What if that was the margin that cost them the coming battle?

  Jon ground his molars together. Why was this alien thought-pattern giving them such hassle? It should have helped them. It should have been more like Bast Banbeck. Instead—

  He wanted to forget about the prince. But he could feel the alien’s curse wrapping around everything. Maybe the alien had acted differently this time because Methlan wasn’t really alive. The prince was a downloaded thought-pattern in Eli Gomez’s brain. The essence of Eli must have been the difference. For all of Eli’s cunning, Da Vinci must have been the more deadly personality between them.

  The brain-tap machines. The cybership had brought them. Bast Banbeck’s people had used them. But it was the AIs who had brought the hideous technology to the Solar System.

  We have to stop them.

  Jon hurried to a planning meeting so they could make the great decision. He ha
ted this about real space battles. Ground combat was so much easier. One was in the problem with adrenaline pumping through the body. With space battles, one had to calculate with incredible depth, playing out ideas step-by-step.

  It was a good thing they had Gloria. The mentalist was a better space-battle planner than he was.

  In his mind’s eye, Jon could see the colonel shaking his head. That was crazy. What was Colonel Graham trying to tell him?

  Jon remembered a lesson in a quiet coffee shop on Bristol Habitat orbiting Saturn. In those days, the regiment had helped a repressive group of oligarchs stamp out a secret revolt of the lower classes. It had been a distasteful mission, but it had helped the regiment pay its bills and outstanding loans.

  “War World II is a prime example of what I’m saying,” Colonel Graham had told Jon in the tiny shop. “The German Wehrmacht was a well-oiled military machine. Their commanders were brilliant tacticians and operational artists. What’s more, their Leader had clever strategies at the beginning before he lost his mind due to his increasing successes.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Which part?”

  “Losing his mind by increasing successes?” the young officer-cadet had asked.

  “It’s a theory of mine.” The colonel had sipped his coffee. “Sometimes, brilliant commanders achieving outstanding success come to believe they can do anything. The Japanese of that war also had it. It was called Victory Disease. The Japanese did so well early on that they believed any exploit to be possible. The Americans at the Battle of Midway taught them a harsh lesson in reality.”

  “The German leader got Victory Disease?”

  “How else does one explain his invasion of the Soviet Union at the same time he took on the British Empire and the Americans?”

  As Jon hurried down the moon corridor, he wondered why he was thinking about this. He—

  “Listen to me,” the colonel said in his mind’s eye. “This is the point. The Germans had brilliant military leadership in World War II. But that leadership had miserable grand strategy.”