Alien Wars Page 15

  Darcy exhaled with relief.

  “The Prime Web-Mind ordered his conversion,” Toll Three said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Your fellow human will become a model 6 cyborg in another fifty-three hours.”

  “Are you a model 6?”

  “No,” he said, sounding insulted.

  Darcy couldn’t think of anything more to say. How did the machines turn a human into a cyborg? Jick, Jick, Jick, he had been a fool to volunteer. He always tried to game the system. In the end—

  Shivering with dread, Darcy fell into a frightened torpor. The rest of the journey passed in silence.

  Finally, the giant spheroid loomed larger and larger. She couldn’t see any net. Then her entire world was the cyborg warship. She noticed an open hangar bay. Light glowed there. They aimed for it.

  Again she wondered if the cyborg could really leap with that kind of precision. Why not? A computer could do it. Theoretically, so could a human. It seemed crazy, though.

  Toll Three passed through the portal and landed on the deck plates. Because he held her, Darcy landed with him. He released her torso. They walked across a magnetized floor.

  They must not have grav-plates. That means the Kresh have superior technology. At least our side has an edge.

  Toll Three took her through a hatch and stood on a large round disc. “Hold on to the rail,” he said.

  It took a moment. Then she spied the object. A pole rose from the middle of the disc. A rail radiated outward from it. She wrapped her gauntlets around it.

  The disc lifted. Soon, bulkheads flashed past. Her fingers began to slip off. Maybe that would be for the best. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want to become a cyborg either.

  One of Toll Three’s hands clamped onto hers, keeping her fingers from flying off. The ride lasted five more minutes, possibly a little longer. Finally, the disc landed with a jar.

  “Come,” Toll Three said, tugging her hand.

  They marched down a dim corridor. She didn’t see other cyborgs or ship machinery, just smooth steel corridors. Finally, they reached another hatch. A portal slid down, and the two of them entered a small chamber with several chairs.

  “Disrobe,” Toll Three said over the radio.

  Reaching up, she twisted her helmet. Soon, she stood in her ship clothes with the vacc-suit on the floor.

  “Disrobe,” Toll Three said over his suit speakers.

  “Why?” she asked. “What difference does it make?”

  “Disrobe,” he repeated for the third time.

  Feeling helpless, with a knot tightening in her stomach, Darcy Foxe stripped off her garments.

  “You are an excellent specimen,” Toll Three said, his metal orbs going up and down as he gazed upon her nude form. “Jick was right about you.”

  “He’s really alive?” she asked.

  “I’ve already told you he lives. He is waiting for conversion.”

  “So he’ll no longer be human?”

  “Not fully,” the cyborg said. “Before he left the Prime’s presence, Jick suggested the Web-Mind leave you as breeding stock.”

  She frowned. That sounded ominous.

  Toll Three pointed at a chair. “Sit,” he said over the suit speakers. “The Prime Web-Mind is about to address you.”

  Feeling horribly exposed, groaning at the coldness of the plastic chair on her butt and the back of her legs, Darcy gingerly sat down.

  Toll Three moved beside the hatch.

  She hoped he wouldn’t leave. Being all alone on the alien ship seemed more terrifying than having a leering cyborg for a companion.

  The wall before her flickered with light. Then an image appeared of growing triangles. They expanded but grew fainter until they disappeared. Smaller ones kept reappearing and going through the same sequence. She had no idea what it signified, if anything.

  “You are the human, Senior Darcy Foxe?” a loud computer voice asked.

  “I am,” she whispered.

  “I am the Prime Web-Mind of the Conquest Fleet.”

  Darcy had no idea what that meant.

  Klane had seen the Prime Web-Mind before when his consciousness had roved stellar space. He had found a complex cyborg, a thing or meld of man and machine. There had been rows and rows of clear biodomes. In the dozens upon dozens of domes were sheets of brain mass, many thousands of kilos of brain cells from as many unwilling donors from a war fought over one hundred years ago.

  Green computing gel had surrounded the pink-white mass. Cables, biotubes, and tight-beam links had connected the endless domes to computers and life-support systems. The combination made a seething whole. It was an empire of mind. The biotubes had gurgled as warm liquids pulsed through them. Backup computers made whirring sounds as lights indicated ten thousand things.

  Of those things, Darcy knew nothing. The voice, screen, and room were her only conception of it. Moistening her lips, she said, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “This is interesting,” the Prime said. “I had not anticipated such awareness among a worker human such as yourself.”

  Darcy tried to decipher what that was supposed to mean. She was too frightened, though.

  “I notice heightened stimulation,” the Prime said. “Faster heart rate, quicker breathing, and sweat secretion. You are excited to communicate with me, I see. That is another mark in your favor. Yes, Senior Darcy Foxe, I am the ultimate in construction. Other Primes exist, but I alone control the Conquest Fleet. It means that after the victory, I will begin constructing yet another cyborg base.”

  “Ah,” Darcy managed to say.

  “Your solemnity gratifies me. Your fellow human flooded the chamber with verbose and grandiose promises. He profaned the occasion with his chatter. Your aspect is the correct one when addressing such a superior construct as myself.”

  Darcy managed to bow her head.

  “Interesting, interesting, you show me reverence. This was unsought on my part. I have a nation of slaves. They must obey my slightest whim. That is merely an expression of speech. I lack whims. My thoughts are dictates of perfected planning. Thus, if I order, my minions follow the action to the letter, to the dot.”

  Darcy nodded. The Web-Mind’s flow of words startled her. It made the construct less intimidating.

  “Perfect,” the Prime said. “My speech has helped to put you at ease. I am the ultimate. Thus, if I desire a thing, I gain it. Senior Darcy, I have found an ancient . . .”

  “Ship?” she asked.

  “You speak without leave?” the Prime said.

  Darcy realized her mistake. She shook her head.

  “You did speak. I heard you. Listen. I will play back your words.” And it did. Darcy heard herself, and she wondered why her voice sounded different when played back like that.

  “What did you mean by ‘ship’?” the Prime asked.

  She took a gamble, shrugging.

  “You have grown faint again. I presume it is in awe of my intellect.”

  She nodded.

  “Yes. I understand the problem. It is difficult for an unmodified human such as you to commune with a superior construct like me. I do not sense envy in you. No. I analyze fear, dread, and awe. I am certain you are in awe of me.”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “In this instance, Senior Darcy Foxe, I am going to request speech on your part. I wish to have a dialogue with you.”

  “Thank you,” Darcy said. “You are most . . .” She almost said “kind.” Instead, she said, “You are most gracious.”

  “Indeed, indeed. This is a marvelous dialogue. The other Primes believe such communication sullies our logic programs. I hold to a different creed. I expand my knowledge base through such dialogues. It is unfortunate Jick proved untruthful. What about you, Senior Darcy Foxe: Are you truthful?�
�

  “Yes.”

  “I knew you would say that. I have video cameras watching you. They are hidden, so don’t bother looking for them. I find that some of my brain cells delight in seeing you. Stand up, Senior Darcy Foxe.”

  She did.

  “Stand straight,” the Prime said.

  With a sniff, she squared her shoulders.

  “Walk across the chamber, Senior Darcy Foxe. Strut for me as you would for a lover.”

  Revulsion swept through Darcy. She almost let that twist onto her face. That would be a disaster, she was certain. So she forced a smile and sauntered across the chilly chamber.

  “You are a wonderful specimen of a woman.”

  “Thank you, Prime.”

  “Do my words make you proud?”

  “They do,” Darcy forced herself to say.

  “That is the nature of a beautiful woman, is it not?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Walk more. Let us see your buttocks jiggle.”

  Darcy blushed. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

  “Jick was right about you,” the Prime said. “The Conquest Fleet does not yet have a breeding herd. Perhaps I should save you for it. This is an interesting puzzle. I cannot fathom defeat in this star system. But it is well to remember that war is an uncertain endeavor. The Conquest Fleet might have to retreat. If we do, it would be good to add such a fine specimen as yourself to the greater herd.”

  Darcy stopped.

  “No,” the Prime said. “You will continue to strut through the chamber as we speak. I find watching you to be a soothing delight.”

  Darcy kept walking in the nude, trying to ignore Toll Three watching her as well.

  “Do you know what the ancient ship does?” the Prime asked.

  “No,” Darcy said.

  “Yet you found it.”

  “I did,” she said.

  “Were you looking for it?” the Prime asked.

  “I do not think so.”

  “You’re not sure?” the Prime asked.

  This was her one lie. She hadn’t known anything. Yet she was sure the Prime wanted to know what this thing did. Likely, Glissim was right. None of them was going home again. Yet she would try to stay alive as long as she could. She would attempt to remain human, too.

  “Do you think your subconscious might have been searching for it?” the Prime asked.

  “I do not know.”

  “But it is possible?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Interesting. You begin to perspire more. Why is that?”

  “I’m . . . strutting very fast,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “That causes perspiration.”

  “You are human. Do you think you’re perspiring because of your strutting?”

  “Partly,” Darcy said.

  “The other part?”

  “It may have to do with finding the ship.”

  “A hidden or subconscious need?”

  “Yes,” Darcy said.

  “Sit, Senior Darcy Foxe,” the Prime said.

  She sank onto a chair. It was no longer cold.

  “We will save you for now,” the Prime said. “I have found this conversation highly stimulating.”

  She nodded.

  “Toll Three.”

  The cyborg stood at rigid attention.

  “Take Senior Darcy Foxe to the alien ship,” the Prime said. “We will watch her. If she had a subconscious thought before, she might have another while inspecting the vessel. Go. Do this at once.”

  “Question, Prime,” Toll Three said.

  “Speak.”

  “Should she don the vacc-suit first?” Toll Three asked.

  “The alien vessel is in a secure chamber, but accidents are possible in a war zone. Yes. Have her don the vacc-suit.”

  Toll Three pointed at the crumpled suit on the floor.

  Darcy jumped up from the chair, put on her clothes, and slid back into the vacc-suit, sealing the tabs.

  22

  Cyrus stood in the control room of the Battle Fang. Skar leaned against the cushioned captain’s board where Mingal Cham the 3012th would have lounged.

  Kresh didn’t sit like humans. They stood, leaned, or lay down on their sides.

  Several crewmembers from the Attack Talon sat at the various stations. Everyone studied the main screen. It showed the moon Jassac. Around it were parked nearly one hundred warships: darters, Battle Fangs, Attack Talons, and the mighty hammer-ships. The last vessels to arrive at Jassac showed up brightly on the screen. Their engines burned hot as they decelerated into near orbit. The rest of the Pulsar gravitational system was devoid of spaceships except for theirs.

  “I’ve done everything I can think of to shield us from detection,” Skar told Cyrus. “We’re on minimum life support. I’ve shut off the engines so we’re traveling on accumulated velocity. Spacewalkers went outside and sprayed black construction foam around the Battle Fang. The hardened foam presently dims any heat and radar signatures. I do not know about Bo Taw psi-sweeps.”

  “We’re too far from Jassac for that,” Cyrus said.

  “Do not underestimate a FIRST,” Skar said. “They are cunning beyond reason. Besides, couldn’t Bo Taw still be in High Station 3?”

  “You’re right about that. Would they think to psi-scan from there, though?”

  “I would,” Skar said.

  “What about Heenhiss?” Cyrus asked. “What’s the situation there, as far as you can tell?”

  “We’ve used long-range scopes to study the situation. The Chirr have swept the Heenhiss spaceways clean of Kresh habitats. The main bug fleet presently heads for Glegan. The computer estimates their arrival in five days.”

  “That’s fast,” Cyrus said, thinking of solar system travel times. “Have the Chirr living underground on Glegan launched their own space fleet?”

  “Not yet,” Skar said.

  “The Kresh at Glegan are still keeping their warships there?”

  “So far.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting,” Niens said, “but isn’t shielding our Battle Fang the first priority?”

  Cyrus and Skar glanced at the tall mentalist.

  “Skar has done what he can,” Niens said, “but I doubt it will be enough. Once Dagon Dar spots our ship . . .”

  Nodding, Cyrus composed himself. “I learned a trick from the dying Sa-Austra.”

  “That is the Eich?” Niens asked.

  “No,” Cyrus said. “The Sa-Austra is an old memory. It belonged to the Eich, but it was also separate. I’m not sure how that’s possible. I’ve begun to wonder, though, if the Eich taught the seekers on Jassac how to mind transfer.”

  “Why would the psi-parasite do that?” Niens asked.

  “That’s a great question,” Cyrus said. “If we learn the answer, I think we’re closer to understanding just what the psi-parasite is and why it’s been hiding in the tubes all this time.”

  Niens grew thoughtful. “You say you slew the Sa-Austra, a memory in the Eich. Did the psi-parasite lose that memory once you slew it?”

  “I would think so,” Cyrus said.

  Niens stroked his chin before asking, “Do you feel up to making a null?”

  “You ask me that now?” Cyrus asked.

  The mentalist actually looked abashed.

  Cyrus took a calming breath. “Before we reached this star system, the Kresh kept those on Earth and us aboard the Teleship in the dark concerning Fenris, or New Eden as we on Discovery knew it then. Our first battle was against a habitat in the outer asteroid belt. The habitat’s function caused us to tele-shift near it. Somehow, the Bo Taw working aboard the habitat broadcast a false image of the entire star system.”

  “That is what you’re going to a
ttempt to do now?” Niens asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why bother bringing it up?”

  “The Sa-Austra had a different version of that,” Cyrus said. “I’m going to cloak our Battle Fang. The Bo Taw in the Kresh habitat needed to broadcast their psi-image all the time. What I’m going to try is a single application of psionics for camouflage that will remain in effect.”

  “Is it dangerous to do?” Niens asked.

  “Not for you,” Cyrus said. He closed his eyes before the mentalist could ask more questions. Niens wanted to know too badly. It became annoying after a while.

  Soft whispers surrounded him. Cyrus concentrated. Fear constricted his chest. He told himself he didn’t have to worry. He wasn’t attacking anyone. This was passive psionics.

  The Sa-Austra had opened its memories about what it knew during the last seconds of its life. Cyrus hadn’t been able to glean everything, but he had gotten this.

  The whispers around him stilled as the noises faded. Cyrus heard nothing now, but he still felt the thrum of the fusion engine. Soon, he wasn’t aware of breathing, smelling, or even standing. With psi-senses, his thoughts roved outside the Battle Fang. This was similar to creating a discontinuity window. He was always exhausted after doing that.

  Concentrate, he told himself.

  He sensed the Battle Fang of steel, titanium, foam insulation, wires, coils, nuclear fusion, plastics, and crew of humans. The ship was a capsule of life in the void. Skar had done wonders with the construction foam. Vomags were masters of improvising on the spot.

  Cyrus began to erase. The vessel is not here. The hiding process would not last for a long time, several days perhaps. That would be more than long enough to reach High Station 3. He didn’t know if it would shield the Battle Fang during braking maneuvers. The heat signature would be too strong to hide.

  Worry about one thing at a time.

  It was crazy that his mind contained these memories from others. Even worse was that these memories had their own personalities. He would have to return deep into his mind and conquer them so he could use the memories. If Klane had had more time for a proper transfer, none of this would have happened.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly correct. Klane could have smoothed out the other memories, submerging them into his mind. The Anointed One couldn’t have done that with the Eich. The psi-parasite was the joker in the deck. The alien entity also had other unknown treasures of ancient knowledge. Cyrus wanted those.