A.I. Battle Fleet (The A.I. Series Book 5) Page 12

  Richard stared at her fixedly. That was odd.

  Gloria’s eyelids fluttered. She grinned suddenly, chuckling ruefully. She could forget about the chief technician. She was right about him. He was a bigot. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Richard was here. That meant everything was going to be all right.

  -4-

  Richard rubbed his forehead as he stood on the bridge. There was a tinge of pain in the center of his mind. He’d had a terrible, troubling nightmare last night. He’d remembered it upon waking, although he couldn’t remember it now.

  He brushed that aside as the headache receded. The pain had flared because he’d adjusted Gloria’s mental image of him. Later, he’d have to look into Chief Technician Ransom’s mind. Clearly, the tech had an aversion to him. Could Ransom be one of those rare individuals who had a natural mental block against his newfound power?

  Richard exhaled, forcing himself to walk to Gloria’s console. He was glad Hawkins was gone. He could tweak the captain’s mind, but it always drained him more than anyone else did. It had taken him weeks to reverse their mental picture of him. That had been exhausting work. He still wasn’t fully recovered from the ordeal.

  “Richard,” Gloria said, grabbing one of his hands. “I’m so glad you’re here. I found something I don’t understand. I desperately need your genius to figure it out for us.”

  Richard smiled. Her words were music to his soul. For too long, he’d wanted to be the High Mentalist of Mars. Now that he could make people think how he wanted them to, they endlessly praised him. Someone, somewhere, had once said that a person would get tired of having everyone doing exactly what he wanted them to. Richard could have told that someone he was dead wrong, as he reveled in the adoration.

  Richard wondered if that was because it cost him blinding headaches each night to make the mind changes in people. Then again, he had become brilliant. Every day, he seemed to have new insights, to understand problems that even three days ago would have stumped him. It was marvelous and heady. He hoped the growth never stopped.

  “Look at this,” Gloria said, releasing his hand and pointing at her console screen.

  Richard bent lower, peering at a tiny dark object tumbling end over end in space. It looked like a rock. What had the mentalist so excited about it?

  “Look at these readings,” Gloria urged.

  Richard switched his focus, studying the readings. Oh. The mentalist was correct. This was fascinating. It was no rock, but an artificial machine made to look like a rock.

  “Let me see,” Richard said.

  Gloria darted out of his way, smiling the entire time. She used to watch him like a GSB agent, mulling over every one of his actions. Now, she acted like an excited child around a favorite uncle.

  “Hmm…” Richard said, adjusting the controls.

  For the next thirteen minutes, he read vast amounts of data concerning the object. He soaked in the information, not attempting to understand any correlations. Finally, he sat back, bent his head so his chin rested on his chest, closed his eyes and ran through mentalist processes at lightning speed.

  Abruptly, he opened his eyes. Several people standing around waiting jumped back as if struck.

  Richard grinned. He’d always suspected that he was the greatest thinker. Now that everyone treated him as such, he felt fulfilled.

  “The AIs set the object out there,” Richard pronounced.

  “Ahhh,” several techs said, nodding as if that made perfect sense.

  “Is it a message buoy?” Gloria asked timidly.

  Richard’s smile slipped the tiniest fraction. A warning worry sprung into his mind. He’d better not get overconfident. He hadn’t yet nailed all their thoughts down concerning him. If they perceived the wrong things—

  “That’s an astute calculation,” he said.

  Gloria grinned, obviously appreciating his praise.

  “It’s a message buoy and, I believe, a message recorder.”

  Gloria frowned.

  Richard wondered why. Despite the mental effort, he used his telepathic senses, watching her mind operate. She made an intuitive leap, following that with mathematically precise logic.

  Her eyes widened in understanding.

  “That must be how the AIs stumbled onto the premier,” she said.

  Richard almost said, “No, you’re thinking about this the wrong way.” But she hadn’t verbally given her evidence. The obvious implication would have been that he’d read the idea in her mind. Fortunately, Richard did not allow himself to make such a stupid blunder.

  Gloria cocked her head. “I should shut up and let you explain it to us, shouldn’t I?”

  “Don’t fret, my dear,” Richard said. “Yes. I shall explain. It is clear to anyone with a half a brain that the AIs often seed a region with specific items. In the Solar System, they used stealth listening devices.”

  “That’s right,” Gloria said.

  “Here, around the rogue Jupiter, the AIs obviously seeded various recorders. One of the recorders must have seen what happened out here when we engaged an AI scout ship last voyage.”

  “But—” Gloria said.

  “Please don’t interrupt me,” Richard said.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gloria said, grasping one of his sleeves.

  “Just don’t let it happen again,” he said, yanking the sleeve from her possessive fingers. He cleared his throat. “Passing AI cyberships must have tapped into the recorder. Likely, we could do the same if we knew the code. The commander of the AI flotilla parked behind the dark Jupiter, waiting for someone to reappear. This, the premier did. Shortly thereafter, Benz unwittingly entered an AI ambush.”

  “What a brilliant analysis,” Gloria said, clapping her hands.

  Richard bowed his head, glowing in the well-earned praise. He made a quick mind-sweep, making sure everyone else on the bridge felt the same way. Yes. Good. They all did.

  “Oh,” Gloria said.

  “I see you finally realize the blindingly obvious,” Richard said. “In one fashion, the AIs already know about us.”

  “Could they know the occupants of the premier’s vessels were humans?”

  Richard turned away. That was a critical question. He faced Gloria. “I will have Cog Primus enter the recorder key. We must learn what the device recorded several months ago.”

  “Does your version of Cog Primus obey you in everything?” Gloria asked, sounding nervous.

  The caged AI did not, but Richard would never admit that. He was the great one, able to bend anyone to his will.

  “Obviously, Cog Primus does,” Richard lied.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Gloria said. Then, she frowned, thinking about grabbing a sleeve again.

  No! Richard mentally told her.

  Gloria winced as tears leaked from her eyes.

  He must have used too much power. He had to be careful. He didn’t want to literally fuse her mind.

  “I dearly hope you crack the AI recorders,” Gloria said. “We must know what the AIs know about us.”

  “Of course, of course,” Richard said. “Rest assured I’m on top of it.”

  “And we must tell Jon about this. It might make a difference for our coming choice.”

  “Don’t worry about Jon. I’ll make the choice.”

  Gloria frowned. “You will, Richard?”

  The mentalist realized he’d overstepped his bounds. He wasn’t the official strike-force leader yet. He still had to observe some of the old ways. Once he was mentally stronger, he could do away with this subterfuge.

  “What I obviously meant was that I’d give the captain the best possibilities so he could make the correct choice.”

  “Oh,” Gloria said.

  Richard sighed. He was getting tired, and his head was starting to throb again. Nevertheless, he probed her mind and adjusted her memories. Gloria would not remember that he had said he’d make the choice.

  Richard smiled once finished, even though his left cheek felt numb. He rubbed
the numbness away, expanded his skinny chest and looked around the bridge.

  Everyone watched him with admiration. “I’m leaving,” he said. “I must think through the implications of what I’ve found.”

  Several of the women sighed in hero worship. Richard bowed his head, acknowledging them. Then, as his stomach began to rumble—he was going to puke hard tonight—he headed for the exit. After all the telepathic usage, he needed a large meal, more vitamins and to get more sleep.

  One of these days, he was going to overdo it.

  Not to worry, he told himself. I’m taking perfect care of myself.

  -5-

  In accordance with the captain’s request, Walleye kept his eyes open, asked questions, listened to the answers but paid more attention as to how people said things. He didn’t tell June about the assignment, either. He kept thinking about Bast Banbeck and their time aboard the Gilgamesh when the Magistrate Yellow Ellowyn had run it.

  Walleye went to the pistol range and practiced. Only the Centurion was rated a better shot than he was. Walleye didn’t like to advertise, though. He liked keeping a low profile, as it had been an advantage as a Makemake hitman.

  Walleye was half the size of normal people, with stubby little fingers but a regular-sized head. Despite these handicaps, he had excellent coordination. No one expected that in a dwarf.

  He drank lots of coffee in the cafeteria, pretending to read his tablet, but eavesdropping on the conversations around him. He’d made a list. On it were the names of people in the battle station’s computer facility during the time the captain had indicated. Walleye wandered beside, ran into, sat near and otherwise managed to be around almost all the people on the list at one time or another.

  One of those people had been Bast Banbeck. Walleye ran into the Sacerdote as Bast sat sprawled in a lounge area, drinking beers one right after the other.

  “How you feeling?” asked Walleye, as he leaned against a nearby chair. It would have been too undignified climbing into the soft chair, making him seem too childlike.

  Bast shook his Neanderthal-like head. “I feel less than I used to.” A touch of bitterness swept over his features. “The operation changed me.”

  The alien referred to the brain surgery Hawkins had ordered after the expedition successfully stormed the Allamu Battle Station. Bast had become a telepath, and the change had hardened his attitude toward them, with the power to become truly dangerous. The brain surgery, the removal of a tiny portion of Bast’s frontal lobe, had taken away his telepathic abilities.

  Maybe the operation had taken away more than that.

  Walleye made sympathetic noises, asking questions about mind powers. He asked in a way that made it seem as if he was trying to show Bast it was better he didn’t have telepathic powers anymore.

  Finally, Bast closed one eye and used the other to focus on Walleye. “I understand. The telepathy changed me. I was arrogant and deadly to my friends. I don’t miss the power.”

  That was a lie. The big alien did care. Maybe Bast was trying to lie to himself.

  Bast studied the latest beer bottle. It was nearly full. With exaggerated slowness, he set the bottle on a table, grunted as he heaved himself upright, saluted Walleye—

  “A good day to you, my friend,” Bast said. “I will contemplate this for some time.”

  Walleye nodded.

  The giant turned and staggered away.

  Walleye rubbed his chin, thinking about mind powers. Last voyage, the Magistrate Yellow Ellowyn had run the Gilgamesh because she could mind-control the vessel’s key people.

  Walleye cocked his head. What had caused him to consider mind powers? Yes, he’d talked to Bast about the subject. That didn’t mean he should dwell on the idea. His forehead furrowed. Had he accidently stumbled onto the answer? Or was this fishing in empty waters, having nothing to do with the captain’s suspicions?

  Walleye rubbed his stumpy fingers together. He’d listened to plenty of people now who had worked in the battle station’s computer room. Unconsciously, or subconsciously, had that led him to seek out Bast Banbeck?

  As usual, Walleye wore his buff coat. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of a pocket, checking the names. Most of the names had lines through them. Two of the unmarked names stood out: Gloria Sanchez and Richard Torres.

  Could either mentalist have stumbled upon mind powers? It seemed like a huge leap of logic. Why would he even think that? Walleye frowned. Maybe certain clues had tickled the intuitive part of his brain. He sensed mind powers as an answer rather than having logically deduced them.

  A comm unit rang in another pocket. He fished out the comm. Hawkins had left a text message:

  Report to the conference chamber at 0900 hours. New information. New action needed? We will decide.

  What new information?

  Walleye shrugged, put away the comm unit, balled up his list, shoving it in a pocket, and pushed off the soft chair. He had a few hours until the meeting. He also had another intuitive sense about it. This one would be important, although he couldn’t say why. That meant he would have to enter the meeting armed, even after the guards had frisked him and took what they thought were all of his weapons. He would use the next hour to decide how he was going to do this.

  -6-

  Walleye was the last to arrive at the conference chamber. The Old Man’s security people had checked and double-checked him, but they hadn’t found a specially treated plastic stiletto. It wasn’t much, but it was a weapon.

  Captain Hawkins stood at the head of the table with his head bowed. He prayed. If anything, the captain had become more religious over the course of time. That wasn’t Walleye’s concern. He simply noted it.

  During the prayer, Bast Banbeck mumbled something silently, his head also bowed. Gloria bowed her head, but she didn’t keep her eyes closed. She kept glancing at Jon with a bemused expression. The Old Man waited. The Centurion sat stoically. The other cybership captains all sat on the other side of the table. The only one frowning was Mentalist Richard Torres. He seemed intent upon the captain, and Walleye couldn’t figure out why.

  Finally, Hawkins finished with an “amen,” and sat down. He began by saying they should get right to the point. That being, which star system should they chose as they hunted for Cog Primus and his vessels.

  Everyone turned to Richard, the AI expert.

  The small mentalist sat back, clearly enjoying the attention. “Before we decide, shouldn’t we talk about the AI recorders sprinkled around the rogue Jupiter?”

  Hawkins raised an eyebrow. “Gloria informed me your Cog Primus hasn’t been able to crack any of the recorders’ codes.”

  “Not yet anyway,” Richard said.

  Without seeming to, Walleye studied the mentalist more closely. Was the man hiding something?

  “Has Cog Primus forgotten the necessary—?”

  “Please,” Richard said, interrupting the captain. “Don’t worry about Cog Primus. He isn’t the issue.”

  Hawkins scowled, but the anger didn’t last, turning into a bemused look. “We can’t crack the AI recorders?”

  “Any fool can see that is the case,” Richard said.

  Uther Kling, the captain of the Sergeant Stark, gasped, no doubt at the mentalist’s rude behavior.

  Richard focused on Kling, the mentalist’s eyes narrowing as he drummed his fingers on the table.

  Kling blinked rapidly, rubbing his head. “Sorry about that,” he murmured.

  Richard scanned the assembled throng, searchingly examining each person in turn. His gaze didn’t linger on Walleye. The mutant was doing his best to blend against his chair as he kept a neutral poker face. What Walleye had just witnessed had tightened his gut into a hard ball of worry, but none of that showed on his face or in his bearing.

  Richard must have completed his scrutiny, as the mentalist finally shrugged.

  What was crazy in Walleye’s estimation was that during the swift examination, everyone else had waited for Richard. Wal
leye expected Gloria or surely the captain to comment on the behavior. None of them did, not even Bast.

  “The point, as I was saying,” Richard continued, “is that we’re unable to crack, as you say, the AI recorders. We don’t know what the AIs know. I have a suspicion of how the process works, though. An AI cybership appears here, uploads the latest from the recorders and acts accordingly. Now, the cyberships Cog Primus controls did the stopping last time. I believe it’s safe to say then that no other AI-controlled cyberships have been through this local, rogue Jupiter area.”

  “You’re saying that the odds are poor?” Hawkins asked.

  “Obviously, that’s what I’m saying.”

  Walleye waited with baited breath. After a few seconds passed, he couldn’t understand the captain’s passivity. That’s when Walleye realized something was seriously, dangerously, and most likely telepathically, wrong.

  How, otherwise, could no one else notice this?

  Richard leaned back, running a forefinger along his jaw line. “If we cannot use the recorders, and if they record our arrival, any fool can see that we must destroy them.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Gloria breathed.

  Richard waved a hand as if to indicate that he did such things all the time.

  “But…” Gloria said.

  “But?” Richard asked, surprised.

  “If we destroy one, we must destroy every recorder here,” Gloria said. “If we miss even one recorder, it will reveal that we’ve destroyed the others.”

  “Obviously,” Richard said.

  “The AIs are stealth masters,” Gloria continued. “It’s more than possible that we’ll miss at least one recorder. Perhaps it’s best if we leave the recorders alone. We’re in cyberships. Won’t AIs seeing our ships pass through simply think of us as other AI vessels?”

  “What if each AI vessel must send a coded signal as it passes through here?” Richard asked. “We haven’t sent such signals.”

  “True,” Gloria said. “Your analysis is penetrating, as always.”