A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Page 23

  After that, it had been easy setting up the heavy weapon. Carting it alone, Jon had placed it behind the people getting ready to charge his pinned down platoon. The flamer had burned most of them. It had been an ugly weapon and an ugly ambush. It saved Jon’s platoon, got him his only medal and a memory of curling flesh he wished he could forget.

  People didn’t burn well, or smell good when they did.

  Jon sat at the desk, switched on the computer and waited. A few moments later, a curly-haired woman wearing SLN blues appeared on the screen.

  “The Premier would like to speak with you,” she said.

  “Put him on. I’m ready.”

  She cast him an uneasy glance before pressing switches.

  A second later, Premier Benz regarded him on the screen. The Earthman wore a dark suit and tie. He had honest-seeming features, with slick dark hair, and looked as if he could use his fists if he had to. There was also an air of intelligence about Benz, as if the man understood more than he should.

  “Captain Hawkins,” Benz said. “This is a privilege.”

  “Premier,” Jon said.

  Benz gave him a crooked smile. “I hope you don’t mind that I don’t use your other title. The Solar League has not yet decided if we can recognize it.”

  “Sure. I get it. I’m also thinking the Solar League isn’t sure whether to accept your title either.”

  “A small matter,” Benz said, as if indifferent to the fact that his enemies had chased him from Earth.

  “You and I have similar problems.”

  “Oh?” Benz said.

  “Have you ever heard of Mao Zedong?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Mao said, ‘Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.’ In our case, our power grows out of the barrel of a gravitational cannon. In your case, out of a laser cannon. You have the bulk of the SLN warships in your possession. I have the Nathan Graham. If either of us loses those, we’re dead men politically.”

  Benz studied Jon. “I’m sorry to say that I cannot accept your thesis.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s still the truth. But now I know you’re going to spout nonsense. I’d been hoping to talk man to man.”

  “You’re a rather abrupt young man.”

  Jon shrugged. “I don’t have time for games, Premier. As my friend Bast Banbeck would say, I’m a warrior. I draw the sword and take on the enemy. That doesn’t leave me much time for word play.”

  “I see. Well…” Benz smiled indulgently. “The Nathan Graham is braking, maneuvering toward Mars. You’ll have the advantage of earlier placement. May I ask how you plan to deploy your ship?”

  “Behind the P-Field for starters,” Jon said.

  “Yes. I’ve been wondering about that. Perhaps we’re missing a bet. I wonder if we should leave the P-Field in position as a decoy. The cyberships will no doubt hammer the crystals, wanting to sweep the field aside. Doing this my way, nothing will be there, though.”

  “We’ll hide behind Mars?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the planet?”

  “Please, Captain, I wish you’d be more explicit.”

  “I think I see what you’re getting at. You want to save your political power—your ships. You assume I want to save my power—my ship. We’ll let the people of Mars take the first hits. The surface laser stations and orbital missiles platforms will be pounding the cyberships. You hope to draw the AI vessels closer to the planet—”

  “You’re a cynical young man,” Benz said, interrupting. “That means you’re smart. This is not just a matter of saving our ships. It’s about trying to bracket the enemy. If we swing around the planet while they’re engaged with the surface forces, maybe we can pin them against Mars. That will give the cyberships less maneuvering room. I’m hoping to practice your technique on them as well.”

  “You’re talking about space marine boarding parties?”

  Benz nodded.

  “You want to grab your own cybership for the Solar League, huh?”

  “Two cyberships if it’s possible.”

  “What about the people of Mars?”

  “What about them?”

  “The AIs will likely saturate the planet with thermonuclear and matter/antimatter bombs.”

  “That is regrettable, of course.”

  “Mass murder is just regrettable?”

  “It happened in the Neptune System, and in the Saturn and Jupiter Systems. Why did you think it would be any different with Mars?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, because we have humanity’s massed warships in the vicinity.”

  “What is the greatest good, Captain?”

  Jon stared at Benz. It struck him that something else was going on here. He didn’t know what that something was, but Benz was acting for someone else’s benefit. Did he think the AIs could hack into the secure line? Was this to throw them off? Or was this a political game? Benz’s position seemed precarious at best.

  “Captain?”

  “The greatest good is victory,” Jon said softly.

  “Yes,” Benz said, staring more intently into the screen than before.

  “Before we go,” Jon said. “I thought I’d remind you of something. If you try to use marines to board the Nathan Graham…”

  “Are you threatening me, Captain?”

  “Yup. Screw with me and I’ll make you wish you hadn’t. I know the desire to try something is going to goad you. I’m just letting you know I know.”

  “Ah. I appreciate that, Captain. I shall pass that along as needed.”

  “This is like the Battle of Lepanto,” Jon said. “The AIs are the Islamic Turks, pillagers to the core. You and I are like the Venetians and Spaniards, blood foes who have to work together for the greater good. The Venetians and Spaniards managed to pull it off. Can we?”

  Benz’s eyes seemed to shine, and a genuine smile broke out. “I should have realized. Your gutter talk is a disguise. You’re actually quite clever. Yes. How could it be otherwise? I’m looking forward to this fight, sir. Yes. Let us bury the hatchet, as the old saying goes. Let us stick together at least long enough to end the AIs for good.”

  “Yeah,” Jon said. “I can live with that.”

  -5-

  The opposing forces began to approach the Red Planet in earnest.

  The Mars Fleet maneuvered behind the rust-colored terrestrial globe in relation to the three cyberships. Only the supply vessels adding to the P-Field continued to operate in what would have been a line-of-sight with the enemy craft. The thick and increasingly wide P-Field kept them out of the AIs’ view.

  The Nathan Graham decelerated as the massive ship drew closer and closer. The P-field filled the main viewing screen on the bridge. The captured cybership would edge near the P-Field as it headed for Mars.

  The Venus Fleet had almost finished their deceleration from the opposite direction. Theirs was the smallest fleet, containing nineteen capital ships, seven battleships, three motherships, and three dreadnoughts. The rest of their fleet were battle cruisers. They had a few extra destroyers, but that was it. The Venus Fleet headed directly for its position behind Mars.

  The Earth Fleet was farther out. At Benz’s orders, they were accelerating again. That would mean hard deceleration in another seven hours. That deceleration would test many gravity dampeners and the Earth Fleet personnel’s resistance to high Gs for an extended period.

  “We have to work together,” had become Benz’s dogma. He threw that into the teeth of whoever questioned his orders.

  Admiral Rowland remained in the brig, guarded by marines Benz deemed loyal to him.

  The three giant cyberships moved faster than anyone else. They also decelerated harder, the burn bright in the stellar darkness. Reports from Mars told of people seeing the cyberships’ exhaust with their naked eyes.

  “It’s strange,” Jon told Bast. They were in the officers’ lounge. The place was almost empty. Jon sipped wine. It was his first glass and, he determined, it would
be his only glass. Bast had guzzled three beers already, with another twelve lined up on the table.

  “Fifteen is nothing,” Bast assured him. “How do you Terrans say it? I feel a buzz, nothing more.”

  Jon slowly twisted the stem of his wine glass as the bottom rested on the table. He stared at the red liquid.

  “Ahhh…” Bast said, pulling a bottle away from his wet lips. “That hits the spot.”

  “You aren’t planning to go through the battle drunk, are you?”

  “Neither that nor buzzed,” Bast Banbeck said. “This is my farewell toast.”

  “Farewell to whom?”

  “Me, possibly you, Gloria…the others.”

  “You think we’re going to lose?”

  “Of course,” Bast said.

  “What?”

  “Our odds for victory are almost nonexistent.”

  “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “I was misguided before. The missile attacks and the latest virus attack show me I’ve been living with a delusion.”

  Jon stared at him. “What about Benz?”

  “You are referring to his calculations, the ones that miraculously saved us?”

  “Yeah, those,” Jon said.

  “That is why I still harbor hope. That is why I will not even be buzzed for the battle.”

  “That’s great, Bast. You’re a real uplifter.”

  “I see the big picture.”

  Jon’s eyes widened. “No. I see the big picture. That’s my power.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What’s your big picture?” Jon asked.

  “That even if we win, we’ll be decimated,” Bast said.

  “Do you know where that term comes from?”

  “I have no idea.

  “It’s Roman,” Jon said. “If Roman legionaries ran from battle, the consuls had them line up later. Every tenth coward got the sword. Maybe they clubbed him to death. I can’t remember exactly. They called it decimation.”

  “That is brutal beyond belief. You humans truly practiced such barbarism?”

  “The Romans did. They built a huge empire because of it.”

  “By killing their cowards?”

  “By having fantastic military discipline, by having fantastic political willpower.”

  “How is any of that germane to the coming battle?” Bast asked.

  “Finish your thought about this decimation first.”

  Bast carefully put his empty beer bottle in a line with the other empties. He then twisted off the next cap and half-guzzled the new one.

  “I doubt we can defeat three cyberships,” Bast said. “Our side lacks the weight of hardware. But let us suppose your Premier Benz produces another miracle. Let us presuppose he captures a cybership with a swarm marine boarding attempt. Yet while that happens, we take the predicted losses.”

  “Okay. Then what?”

  “Then we lose to the next cybership fleet to arrive. We must win decisively and somehow begin to prepare for the next and bigger round.”

  “That could be years from now.”

  “Everything could also end in less than a week.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Jon said. “You know what I think?”

  “I do not.”

  “Let’s go down swinging. Let’s hurt them.”

  “How does that avail us anything?”

  “How does sulking help?”

  Bast regarded him closely. “I do not know. Perhaps heavier drinking is in order.”

  Jon had been playing along with his giant friend. Suddenly, Bast’s defeatism struck him wrong. Jon picked up the glass and poured the wine onto the table.

  Bast jerked back in surprise.

  Jon reached across the table and with his forearm swept away all Bast’s unopened beers. They flew onto the floor. One shattered, spilling beer everywhere. The rest rolled and clinked until they came to a stop.

  Bast sat back, stunned.

  Jon stood, and he grabbed Bast by the throat of his tunic. “Enough! Do you hear me? You belong to the Nathan Graham. You’re my friend. I’m not going to sit around and listen to you sulk and feel sorry for yourself. It’s time to fight, Bast Banbeck. It’s time to use that noggin God gave you. Do you remember you said you’re alive for a reason?”

  Bast nodded.

  “Then find out the friggin’ reason,” Jon said. “Clear your head. We have to beat these AIs and we have to do it in the next few days.”

  Jon let go of the tunic, stepping back from the Sacerdote. “Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you, Jon Hawkins.”

  “Now you gonna do something about it?”

  Bast stood. As he did, he sent his chair flying. “I see now why you captured the Nathan Graham. Your anger is good. I am chastened.”

  “Yeah, yeah, no more philosophical crap,” Jon said. “We’re going to psyche up to beat the AIs.”

  “I am psyched.”

  “Good. Then help me clean up our mess. I don’t want the waiters thinking I’m a jerk. They’re part of the Nathan Graham, too, and I’m going to treat them with the respect they deserve.”

  -6-

  The great journey from Makemake was almost over. The Nathan Graham moved at a fraction of the velocity that had taken it through much of the Solar System. In thirty-nine minutes, it would slide behind the great P-Field. Then it would head for Mars, more than fifty thousand kilometers away.

  Jon was on the bridge, studying the approaching cyberships. Like the Nathan Graham, the AI vessels had slowed tremendously.

  “One of the cyberships is hailing us,” Gloria said.

  “Ignore it.”

  “The machine intelligence wishes to speak with you.”

  “Nope, not this time,” Jon said.

  Gloria pressed a spot on her board.

  “Captain,” Ghent said. “Some of their hangar bay doors are opening.”

  “Give me a visual,” Jon said.

  Tech Chief Ghent soon brought up a close-up.

  Doors opened on one of the cyberships. Four-kilometer-long missiles slid out and gathered in a clump. Likewise, huge missiles gathered from the other two cyberships.

  “They’re getting ready,” Ghent said.

  That was an understatement. Three clumps grew into masses. In time, each mass held two hundred missiles or more.

  “They’re emptying out their cargo holds,” Ghent said.

  Jon heard the worry in the chief’s voice. He couldn’t say he didn’t understand why. It brought home yet again that this was it. This was the round to decide if humanity was going to stop the alien AIs or if they were simply going to be the next notch on the AIs’ belt.

  “It seems like there should be a better way to wage war,” Jon said. “Tossing masses of munitions at each other seems like a crazy way to do it.”

  Gloria looked up. “The AIs developed a better way. Have the species’ computers do the fighting for them.”

  Jon nodded absently. “What I’m saying…” He turned around, staring at Gloria. Then he headed for the hatch.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I have to talk to Bast.”

  ***

  Jon kept pressing the buzzer on Bast Banbeck’s outer chamber. The Sacerdote wasn’t answering. Half a day had passed since the incident in the officers’ lounge. Jon pushed his thumb against the buzzer one more—

  The hatch slid up. A sweaty Bast glared at Jon.

  “What happened to you?” Jon blurted.

  Bast stepped back.

  Jon took that to mean, “Come on in.” He did. He saw right away that Bast had chalked almost the entire outer chamber into a vast design.

  “Did I interrupt something?” Jon asked.

  Bast did not answer. He entered the pattern, moving along chalked lines, jumping over others and leaping in a spin over yet others. Finally, he reached the center of the pattern.

  Jon had the feeling he’d interrupted a ceremony. Bast must have hurried
out of the pattern the same torturously long way he’d used to get back in.

  Now, Bast Banbeck moved slowly and serenely from one location to another.

  Jon grew impatient as Bast stopped at some squares, going to his knees and bowing his head. From here, he could hear Bast mumbling what might have been prayers in the Sacerdote language.

  Later, Bast straddled lines, shuffled his feet and took a great leap into a circular zone.

  “Give me a break,” Jon muttered under his breath. What was this all about?

  He realized Gloria would have watched in fascination, trying to figure out the significance of various actions. Maybe that’s why Bast let him into the outer chamber. The Sacerdote knew the warrior wouldn’t try to decipher what he saw. He’d just watch as a spectator.

  Three-quarters of an hour later, Bast rose and slowly made his way out of the pattern. He seemed calmer now.

  “Bast,” Jon said.

  The Sacerdote pressed a finger to his lips and pointed at the outer hatch.

  Jon understood. He kept his mouth shut until the two of them stepped outside.

  “Feel better?” Jon asked.

  “That was a sacred ceremony. It has calmed my heart. It will have eased the spirits of my ancestors so they can rest at peace. That eases me. I must…”

  “You must what?”

  “Do you promise not to attack me again?”

  Jon blinked several times. “Oh. You’re getting ready to join your ancestors in death?”

  Bast appeared astonished. “That is an astute guess, Captain.”

  “If you like that,” Jon said. “You’re going to love my next thought even better.”

  “This sounds interesting.”

  “You know more about the AIs than anyone. The only other people who might know more are the alien thought-patterns in the brain-tap machine. We haven’t had great luck in that direction, so I don’t want anyone to go under the helmets.

  “According to Gloria,” Jon continued, “we have one of the greatest geniuses among us, I mean Premier Benz. Apparently, his Vice Premier is almost as brilliant.”

  “That is how it is in Sacerdote society. The brightest and the best rule.”

  “That’s sure not common in human history. Usually our biggest scoundrels end up ruling.”