A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 18

  “Not guilty of engineering J.P. Justinian’s death?” she asked.

  “Not guilty of plotting against the State,” he countered. “It has been my intention to save the State, to save the lot of you—if you’ll let me.”

  “By murdering the rightful Premier?” the judge demanded.

  “Your Honor, whoever is behind this murdered my guards, killed my friends and had me dragged before this Star Chamber. This isn’t justice. This is a coup.”

  “Did you allow Justinian to plead his case before you murdered him?”

  “I did not murder him. In fact, I warned him not to sit in the chair where he died.”

  “That is immaterial.”

  “That’s absurd. It is perfectly material.”

  The judge smiled evilly, leaning forward. “You are no longer in a position to say. You are a prisoner, our prisoner.”

  The fear of dying finally broke through his mental block. His mind wanted to contemplate all the ways they could torture him. Instead, with an effort of will and concentration, he put the block back in place. A good offense was the best defense.

  “You are all coup plotters,” Benz said.

  The judge banged her gavel on a block of wood. “I will have you gagged, sir, if you continue to spout nonsense. You have plotted against the State. You have elevated yourself, a member of the military, to supreme leadership. The action is against all principles of Social Dynamism. The people have risen up through us. We have—“

  “You’ve tampered with those men,” Benz said, interrupting, pointing at the GSB detail along the wall. “Who did that to them?”

  The judge scowled.

  Benz cocked his head. He’d just heard a distant sound. His knees weakened, and he dropped into the chair. He looked down, hiding a grin.

  It would seem that Vela hadn’t turned on him after all. She hadn’t joined the conspirators. The distant noise settled his nerves. He might not die down here before these fanatical devotees of Social Dynamism. His real crime had been pitching aside their political ideology in the interest of saving human life. These fanatics would rather die than give up their communistic beliefs and power.

  “Inspector General,” the judge said.

  Benz realized she’d called his name several times already. He looked up.

  She scowled at him, and then her features shifted. She looked up as if startled. Had she heard something?

  “I suggest a recess,” Benz said. “Perhaps you could put me in a holding cell and let me gather my thoughts.”

  The judge ignored him. “What is that noise?” she asked.

  No one answered.

  “Well?” she said. “Doesn’t anyone else hear that?”

  “Should I go check?” the chief GSB guard asked.

  The judge stared at the security detail. “Yes. Go at once. All of you.”

  The chief guard motioned with his head, drawing his gun afterward. The guard detail hurried past the barrier as the back wall rose. They moved swiftly like greyhounds, no longer seeming human.

  Benz dearly wanted to know what and who had modified them. Who acted against him? It wasn’t just these Party members and GSB personnel. He had a hyper-intelligent enemy hidden in the shadows. Who could that be?

  Sounds of gunfire came down the underground corridor.

  “Wait,” the judge called to the GSB detail. “Come back. You will escort the prisoner. We’re taking him elsewhere.”

  ***

  Benz was wearing the cuffs again, with his hands behind his back. The inhuman guards half-carried him at times. Two of them grabbed his arms, hoisting him off the floor and running. Their strength and speed astonished him. They raced down another underground corridor. This one was much deeper than the last. The air down here seemed stale.

  The judge had left them some time ago. She’d spoken about the need for gathering reinforcements.

  As the modified guards took him deeper underground, Benz had come to realize his mistake—the reason his enemy had decided it was time to attack. He’d sent the bulk of the Earth-stationed warships to Mars. Most of the fleet around the home planet had started en route to face the coming cyberships. The warships and space marines aboard them had represented the bulk of his political power. His protection had disappeared with their departure. That had allowed his secret enemy to make his or her move. Why do that now, though? Why not wait until after the Mars battle?

  Ah, of course. He should have seen it sooner. If he and Hawkins won the battle against the cyberships, his political power would be cemented. If he lost, it wouldn’t matter. Humanity would die. Thus, his hidden enemy had struck now while he or she could still depose him and take over in his place.

  Would the fleet officers obey the coup members?

  It deflated Benz to realize that the fleet officers probably would obey. He had one chance to save humanity from the cyberships. He had to get to the fleet. The ships had begun accelerating three days ago already. How could he reach—?

  He knew what to do.

  “Why are you smirking?” the chief guard demanded.

  “I was thinking what you’d look like dead,” Benz replied.

  “If we die, you die.”

  “Really? Why not kill me now, then, and be done with it?”

  The chief guard’s eyes smoldered with desire. He reached for his holstered weapon.

  “No,” a different guard said. “Our orders—”

  “I know our orders,” the chief guard snarled.

  A sudden, odd tenseness grew between the two agents.

  They’re like dogs, Benz realized.

  The sound of gunfire and exploding grenades became louder behind them.

  “We must get to point A,” the other guard said. “Those are our orders.”

  “Yes!” the guard chief snarled. “We carry him. We move.”

  They moved fast while carrying Benz. The guards seemed tireless. Yet, no matter how many turns they took, no matter how many hatches they closed behind them, the sounds of gunfire and grenades seemed to close in toward them.

  “Battlesuits,” the guard chief said. “Marines are trying to save him.”

  The GSB agents kept running while carrying Benz. They panted, and their soft-soled shoes made scrunching sounds. Benz’s flesh ached from their digging, iron-strong grips.

  “How do the marines know where he is?” the other guard who had spoken up before now asked.

  “Yes,” the chief guard said. He gripped Benz’s throat with steel-strong fingers. “How do the marines know?”

  Benz tried to choke out a reply.

  The steel-like fingers loosened their hold.

  “I don’t know,” Benz said hoarsely.

  “You are lying.”

  “No. I have no idea.”

  “He carries a bug,” a GSB agent said. “It is the only answer.

  The agent was right, of course, but Benz didn’t plan on telling them that.

  “Search him,” the guard chief said.

  They halted, tearing off his clothes. Benz shivered. The air down here was cooler than he’d realized. Their hands felt all along him. That weakened his mental block. Being naked among them stole some of his courage.

  “Nothing,” a guard said.

  “The bug is inside him,” the chief guard said. The inhumanly lean GSB agent drew a sharp knife. “Tell me where it is. Otherwise, I will probe you for it.”

  Benz’s balls shriveled. A trickle of terror slid past his mental block. The idea of the knife sticking into his flesh—

  “I’ve already told you,” Benz said. He had to remain strong. If he showed weakness—

  “Leader!” a guard said. “The enemy is here.”

  The GSB agents, the modified men—if they were men—turned with snarls and the chomping of teeth. It was a weird spectacle.

  Three SLN marines in battlesuits came around the corner. Blood and gore stained their heavy suits. More showed up. They had smoking craters and pits in their armor.

  The
GSB personnel howled like demented creatures, drew their guns and knives, and charged the battlesuited marines.

  It was bizarre. Benz stood naked with his hands cuffed behind his back, watching. With a start, he went to his knees and lay down on his stomach.

  The marines opened up with lethal hardware, destroying the GSB agents with massed gunfire. In seconds, the agents were nothing but bullet-riddled bodies lying in pools of blood.

  The marines advanced with heavy clomps as their suit engines purred.

  Benz struggled to his knees in time to regard a seven-foot battlesuit before him. A faceplate whirred open, and a sweaty Vela Shaw looked down.

  “The cavalry has arrived,” she said.

  “I won’t ever forget this.”

  “You saved me once. Do you think I’ve forgotten what you did?”

  “Ma’am,” one of the battlesuited marines warned.

  “Frank,” Vela said. “GSB and troop reinforcements are on their way here. We have flyers outside, but it’s going to be close.”

  His mind started working again, building up speed of thought as he realized he might survive this night.

  “Someone needs to carry me,” Benz said.

  “Listen first,” Vela said. “The Earth doesn’t want you, and certainly doesn’t want me. When the fleet left—”

  “I know, I know,” Benz said. “We have to join the fleet.”

  She smiled as if with relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”

  “Our hidden foe is brilliant,” Benz said. “That’s why I couldn’t get a handle on running the government.”

  “We can talk about that later,” she said. “I have an idea—”

  “Does it include storming the orbital naval yard?” Benz asked.

  Her eyes seemed to shine. “I see we’re on the same page.”

  “Ma’am,” the battlesuited marine insisted.

  “We have to go,” Vela said.

  “Break off my handcuffs and show me my ride,” Benz said. “I have some thinking to do.”

  He was glad Vela and he had devised an anti-coup plan some time ago. A tracking bug had been surgically implanted against the wall of his stomach. It had proven its worth. Now, would they be able to fight their way off Earth and get into orbital space in time?

  -5-

  “No,” Benz said. “I’m not going to order any nukes onto the planet. We’re doing this to save life, not to have excuses to murder it.”

  The battlesuited marines had fought their way back to the flyers. They’d loaded up and screamed across the Bohemian topography at Mach 5.

  Benz was in the same compartment as Vela. He was wearing clothes again, and shoes, feeling more human because of it. He’d just gotten off the horn with one of his few remaining loyal subordinates. The officer had suggested using nuclear bombardments against certain ground battery sites. That would help cover their ride up into orbital space.

  “We have a problem,” Benz told Vela. “Earth is a veritable fortress with its ground batteries and missile sites. It can saturate orbital space. While some of the commanders in the orbital platforms are still listening to me, how much longer will that last if they know I’m trying to flee Earth?”

  “We should have departed with the fleet.” Vela said.

  “We wanted to keep the home front secure.”

  “I know the reasons,” Vela said. “How did we miss this?”

  “Easy. A great mind at least the equal of mine has plotted against us.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Premier,” a space marine colonel said. He was smaller than average and had a strange glint to his eyes. “We have our window of opportunity, sir. Do we go upstairs?”

  Benz could feel the hope in the colonel’s voice that he’d take the right action. How long would the space marine back him if they stayed down here? The colonel obviously wanted to join the fleet. That might have been why he’d remained loyal. But if they flew upstairs, as the colonel suggested, and the other side shot them down…

  “We need decoys to throw any tracking stations off our scent,” Benz said.

  The colonel shook his head. “We don’t have any decoys, sir.”

  Benz’s lips drew back until inspiration struck. He tapped the comm, opening channels and typed a special order. The code would implement the Loki Protocols. He should have thought of it sooner.

  The scrambled message moved fast. That was one of its key features. It would cause worldwide chaos by unleashing computer viruses, ghost images, massive shutdowns and other electronic mayhem.

  “Five minutes,” Benz told the colonel. “Then we go to heaven.”

  The colonel grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  ***

  Afterburners kicked in as the flyer convoy rocketed for orbital space. So far, so good. One radar site had tracked them for thirteen seconds. Then, the Loki Protocols had taken over.

  The protocols wouldn’t last long, Benz knew. In fact, he’d hoped to use them for their getaway in the experimental space vessel. But if he couldn’t get to the orbital construction yard, it wasn’t going to matter anyway.

  “Bogey,” the pilot said from the other cabin.

  “Premier,” the colonel said. “Get ready for violent maneuvering.”

  “Roger,” Benz said.

  They were already buckled tight, so why the warning? Fifteen seconds later, he understood. The flyer banked so hard that everything around them shook. The flyer expelled chaff—

  Through the intense shaking, Benz could feel the flyer’s guns firing. It put a knot in his stomach that twisted tighter and tighter. He felt like vomiting but fought against it. He didn’t want the marines around him to tell stories later about his weakness.

  Finally, the flyer evened out, although the shaking worsened. The Gs grew, pushing Benz back into his seat as they roared heavenward.

  “We got lucky,” the pilot shouted into Benz’s earphones.

  “That’s great,” Vela shouted to Benz. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  “Hang in there, sir,” the colonel said. “We’re going to make it.”

  I hope so, Benz thought. He didn’t want to go through all this and die in the end.

  ***

  The shaking stopped, the acceleration quit and weightless struck. Benz glanced at a monitor. They were leaving Earth behind. He could see the curvature of the blue/green planet. Europe spread out below. He could see the Baltic Sea. The atmospheric haze—

  It’s beautiful.

  Earth was worth saving. So was humanity. These alien AIs sounded dreadful. Why would anyone have built things like that? Did the AIs out there have anything to do with the ancient site down in Antarctica? Did the ancient site have anything to do with his hidden foe?

  Benz bet it did.

  Time crawled much too slowly for Benz’s comfort. They were tiny, and the Earth was huge. Covering territory up here in low orbit took too long.

  The courtroom hoax seemed surreal now. The strangely inhuman GSB guards—more was going on than he could connect. What did these changes mean? They had to mean something. Had the hidden foe been watching him all this time?

  Benz didn’t like the implications.

  “How soon?” he asked the colonel. He repented of the question as soon as he asked it.

  The colonel seemed upset by it. So did the other two marines in here with him.

  “Fifteen minutes, maybe,” the colonel said.

  Those minutes curdled Benz’s gut. He felt exposed every second up here. If the Loki Protocols failed, lasers stations could easily pick them out of orbit. Hypersonic missiles could come screaming after them.

  Earth was a fortress. The defense systems had been upgraded and multiplied in order to withstand the captured cybership if it tried to come here. Now, three of the bastard super-ships had invaded the Solar System.

  Would Captain Hawkins stick to the plan if the hidden foe killed him? If that happened, would the SLN warships pick a fight
with Hawkins around Mars?

  I have to escape, Benz told himself. It’s not just about me staying alive. I’m the glue for our side. Hawkins and humanity is counting on me. I have to use my mind like never before.

  “There,” the colonel said. “You can see it.”

  Benz used the monitor. He saw it, all right. The main orbital construction yard drifted around Earth. It was a vast oval, a giant donut that spun around and around to simulate gravity for those inside. The yard had huge spokes in the center and half-built ships around it. Some of the yard work took place inside giant hangar bays. The place had guns and antimissiles. Would the yard target the flyers?

  “Sir,” the colonel said. “It’s time to make a call.”

  The weightlessness had begun to seriously trouble Benz. He concentrated anyway. He had to act like a Premier more now than ever. He had to talk their way onto the construction yard so they could commandeer an experimental space vessel.

  -6-

  The next hour was a blur. Benz convinced the port admiral in charge of the yard to let them land. His marines wore battlesuits and acted decisively once in the construction yard’s corridors. Sometimes decisive action made all the difference.

  The marines only fired once at Benz’s explicit orders. They gunned down five GSB agents.

  The construction-yard port admiral, a portly man, went ghost white at the firing, at the bodies thudding onto a deck. He’d sputtered incoherent words.

  Benz put an arm around the admiral’s shoulders, leading him down the corridors. Benz’s other hand kept hold of a gun. He hoped the message was clear. How do you want to do this, Admiral? Friendly or enemy style?

  The port admiral decided to play along with the charade. No doubt, he would do so long enough to get away. Then he would either make a call or turn the construction yard’s armaments against them.

  Down on Earth, the opposition had started to get a handle on the Loki Protocol. They had done so faster than Benz had expected.

  The experimental warship was a beauty. It had rakish features, giving the pretense that it could land on a terrestrial world. The thing was made for speed. It had one long-range particle beam. The cannon had been built along the entire length of the vessel. It had a minimal crew. It was part raider and part long-range sniper.