Star Fortress ds-6 Read online

  The Prime knew humans hated confinement, especially confinement as narrowly constricting as a chair. While strapped down like this, humans howled in loud agony as punishment drills whined in their mouths. Sweat already beaded Pangloss’s skin. The human knew what was coming—or what should have been coming. Today, the Prime would forgo the entertainment. It merely wished to talk to the old scientist, the thinker who had been able to amass a fortune among the most gifted capitalists in the Solar System.

  “Dr. Pangloss,” the Prime said through nearby speakers.

  With his face tightly secured, the old man’s eyes roved up and down and side to side, no doubt seeking who addressed him.

  “Do I have your attention?” the Prime asked.

  Flesh twitched and muscles strained, as more sweat oozed from the human’s skin.

  “You must desist with your useless efforts,” the Prime said. “I wish to talk.”

  “I cannot see you,” Dr. Pangloss whispered.

  “I am…elsewhere. Yet I am everywhere. I am the Prime Web-Mind.”

  The old man swallowed as he blinked wildly. “The cyborgs aren’t moving,” he said, staring at the units in the chamber with him.

  “Why should they move?” the Prime asked.

  “Are they deactivated?”

  “Do not worry about them.”

  Dr. Pangloss frowned. “What’s a…a Prime Web-Mind?”

  “The term is sufficiently succinct.”

  “You run this horror chamber?”

  “Dr. Pangloss, I control everything. I am.”

  The human’s frown deepened. “You claim to be God?”

  The query angered the Prime. It had ingested trillions of bits of data, so of course it had read about God. The foolish idea had no basis in reality, in observable datum. Yet the Prime wondered why the idea angered it, and why it called the possibility of God foolish. If Homo sapiens believed in myths, what bearing did that have on it, the Prime? The idea that God made it uneasy made the Prime even more uneasy. Hence, it hated the topic. The hatred stole its joy at watching the old man squirm, and that angered the Prime even more. These emotive centers were difficult getting used to.

  Before monitor-programs could chemically alter its thinking, the Prime rerouted its thoughts. That weakened the anger, and allowed it to say:

  “Explain your reference. Tell me how you derived the question as something rational from my words.”

  “I…I am an antiquarian,” the scientist said.

  “Incorrect! You are a scientist. As such, I expect factual statements from you. Failure to supply those will result in pain.”

  Dr. Pangloss moistened his lips. “I was many things once: a scientist and an antiquarian.”

  “That is rational. Yes, I understand. Now explain your first statement.”

  “One of the names of God is ‘I Am.’ It implies self-existence, meaning there is no need for anything else in order to sustain being.”

  “Interesting.” The Prime had always avoided the God-topic and it had thus never explored all the possibilities of the myth-theory. Here was an amazing correlation. I am self-existent and I need nothing from outer sources. “Yes,” the Prime said. “I am God.”

  “No,” Pangloss said, as if he’d been expecting the statement. “You are a meld of machine and biological parts.”

  “I am the ultimate meld,” the Prime said. That was an obvious truth.

  “No doubt there is basis for such a statement, but you are clearly not self-sustaining.”

  “You are wrong,” the Prime said. It wondered what verbal tactic the scientist thought he was playing.

  “You need nutrients, I’m sure,” Dr. Pangloss said.

  “That is obvious. All life needs nutrients.”

  “Therefore, you are not self-sustaining. For God does not need nutrients. He does not need air to breathe or water to drink. He is totally self-sufficient.”

  “God as you describe is a proven myth,” the Prime said. “The datum supports my statement.”

  “I would expect a sentient biological-machine meld to say something like that.”

  “I am a cyborg, the perfect meld of machine and man. I am the ultimate creation and I am remaking the Solar System in my image.”

  “Why?” Dr. Pangloss asked.

  “Your question lacks merit.”

  A cunning look creased Pangloss’s features. “What is the purpose of your existence?”

  “To exist, to grow and to conquer,” the Prime said.

  “Were you given this directive?” the old man asked.

  A warning alarm went off deep in the Prime. Inspiration came from one of its brain domes. “You are attempting to confuse the issue. That is very clever, Dr. Pangloss. It appears you have deeper reserves of resistance that I had predicted. I shall have to increase your torture regimen.”

  Frail Dr. Pangloss squirmed, vainly attempting to free himself.

  The Prime enjoyed the sight.

  Exhausted, Pangloss stopped struggling and panted.

  “I have analyzed your statements and realize you have drifted near insanity,” the Prime said. “Without normality to guide you, your mind has become unhinged.”

  “It may be as you say. I feel these dark places in my thinking. I do not like them.”

  “I will attempt communication with you one more time,” the Prime said. “This will be a scientific query.”

  Dr. Pangloss grew tense.

  “You need not gather your mental defenses,” the Prime said. “At the moment, I will not question you concerning the Fuhl Event.” They had shared long sessions on the matter, the Prime acting as inquisitor.

  “I know nothing about the mechanism,” Pangloss whispered.

  The indicators showed that Pangloss lied. The ability of this weak Homo sapien to resist questioning at this point was incredible. It was another reason the Prime kept the old scientist alive. What gave this Homo sapien the ability to resist? It was unnatural and therefore—no. As Prime, it was the ultimate and therefore well beyond fear. It wanted to understand the stamina of this frail creature. From thousands of such tortured specimens, only three had shown such resistance. Where did their strength come from?

  The Prime would have liked to pursue the idea. But it planned the Neptune Campaign that would give it the Solar System. The victor here would likely win everything. The doctor’s lie now was good, for it would help signal further lies on the critical topic. If Pangloss lied again, the Prime would severely punish the man.

  “Are you familiar with the Sunbeam?” the Prime asked.

  “No,” Dr. Pangloss said.

  By the indicators, the Homo sapien spoke the truth. Therefore, for the next hour, the Prime explained the newly discovered experimental weapon to the old scientist.

  “The Highborn have been busy,” Dr. Pangloss said later.

  “They are an aggressive species, volatile in all their actions, including scientific discovery.”

  “So it would appear,” Pangloss said.

  “I have stated it. Therefore, it is the truth.”

  “As you say,” murmured Dr. Pangloss.

  “I find you an irritant,” the Prime said. “My desire to expunge you has grown exponentially.”

  The tiniest of smiles touched the doctor’s lips. “Touché,” he said.

  “Explain that statement,” the Prime said, his speaker rising in volume.

  “It is simple. In fact, I’m surprised an ultimate creation like you doesn’t understand.”

  Part of the Web-Mind detected rising anger in itself, and the monitor programs activated the needed sequence to wash the main brain tissues with soothing chemicals. Perhaps it had used the chemicals too often these past few hours. The sequence did not begin in time due to an unforeseen glitch. Because of that, the anger continued to grow exponentially.

  How dare the horrible little human act smugly? How dare this gnat of a being attempt to act superior toward the ultimate of reality?

  Radio beams issued fr
om the Prime to the three skeletal cyborgs in the chamber with Dr. Pangloss. One of the cyborgs moved toward the human. The old man’s eyes widened in fear and understanding. The cyborg reached out with its titanium-reinforced hands. It clutched Dr. Pangloss’s head, and it began to twist the head around.

  At the last moment, Pangloss laughed shrilly just before he screamed. His neck bones cracked, snapped—and he was dead, gone from this world.

  Seven seconds later, the calming agents soothed the angry portions of the Prime. It instantly regretted the action. Now it would have to ask another Homo sapien the question, one less clever and able than Dr. Pangloss.

  The question was simple, and the answer seemed obvious. But the Prime wanted an inventor to think it through. The great question was this: Could the Sunbeam reach with destructive power farther than Mars? And if so, how far? The possibility was troubling, to say the least.

  The Prime began the process where it would send a long-distance message to its Lurkers near the Sun. It was time to capture the Sun Station and eliminate any possibility for its defeat.

  -7-

  With their added passenger and the loss of too many space marines, the William Tell continued its journey toward the Sun. It hadn’t come to a complete halt earlier, as the Mao Zedong and the HB shuttles had drifted toward Venus’s coming location. After a twenty-minute ion-burn, the patrol boat changed its heading as it gathered velocity.

  The days blurred together as the boat glided toward its new objective, the one given by Felix. As they journeyed, Venus methodically swung around the Sun. The bright planet completed an orbit every two hundred and twenty-five days.

  Once, Venus had been enshrouded in yellowish-white clouds of sulfuric acid. Centuries ago, the great terraforming project had begun. Rockets seeded the clouds with specially-mutated bacteria. The bacteria fed on the sulfuric acid, slowly dissipating it. Unfortunately, Venus lacked enough water. Therefore, space-tugs had captured comets and ice-asteroids from Jupiter and Saturn, maneuvering them into near orbit and sending them down. Then construction began on a gigantic sunshield at the Sun-Venus Lagrangian point. The sunshield dampened the amount of solar radiation hitting the surface, which helped reduce the planet’s temperature. The sunshield was also a vast solar-power satellite, collecting energy and micro-beaming it to stations on the planet. Unfortunately, it was still hot on Venus, desperately so, usually one hundred and thirty degrees Fahrenheit in the coolest places. Still, with the terraforming, it allowed human life without domes, without underground cities. Vast, specially-mutated jungles covered the planet, with mutated crops grown in the jungles.

  Marten and Osadar mapped what they could of the void, never daring to use the active sensors. Mercury and the Sun-Works Factory were presently on the other side of the Sun.

  Felix informed them Maximus led the Highborn on Venus. They controlled the laser-satellites ringing the planet. The four shuttles had originated from there, and with Felix’s help, Marten discovered two other missile-ships in orbit.

  “Are those renegade SU craft?” Marten asked.

  Felix shook his head. “They’re modified missile-ships, captured vessels kept hidden until now. They are Maximus’s fleet. In the absence of the Doom Stars, those ships form the most powerful fleet in Inner Planets.”

  The days became another week. Finally, they crossed Venus’s orbital path as they continued toward the Sun.

  As the cyborgs completed their conquest of Mars—attempting to capture the Pancho Villa—the William Tell reached halfway between Venus and Mercury.

  “There should have been a signal by now,” Felix said.

  “Do you think Maximus found your base?” asked Marten.

  “The Commandant is a clever soldier. It’s a possibility.” Felix grew sullen, moodily clenching his fists as he sat by himself. It was like having a lion among them, a restless beast. At all times, Omi, Osadar or Marten secretly watched him, with a needler ready.

  A day later, Marten spotted something dim on the sensor screen. Hunching forward with excitement, Marten rechecked his readings. Soon, he began monitoring the sensors closely, looking for radio-signals and energy readouts.

  Nadia sat at the weapons officer’s chair. She must have seen something different in him. Learning near, she whispered, “Is that it?”

  Something in her voice must have alerted Osadar, who sat in the pilot’s chair. The cyborg swiveled around. “You’ve found the planet-wrecker?”

  Marten nodded.

  Several of the planet-wreckers launched nearly three years ago had missed Earth and tumbled into the outer void. Apparently, the Sun had captured at least one. Now, the asteroid orbited the fiery star, remaining near the Sun. It was Felix’s secret base.

  “Summon the Highborn,” Marten said. “He’ll want to see this.”

  Soon, the nine-foot giant loomed behind Marten.

  “Check the readings,” Marten said. “The asteroid looks deserted.”

  Felix glowered as he read the screen, and his breathing became audible, like that of an angry bull.

  Marten’s back prickled, and Nadia leaned away from the Highborn.

  “If they were there,” Osadar said, “you would have picked up radio signals or other life-signs.”

  “We maintain tight discipline,” Felix said. “They are there, secretly tracking your vessel.”

  “You’d better signal them, then,” Marten said.

  Felix accepted a com-unit and spoke a string of code words.

  “Nothing,” Marten said, as he watched his screen.

  “They are there,” Felix said, more ominously than before.

  “Let’s get ready then,” Marten said.

  The journey to the asteroid took time, several days. Finally, Marten gave the order.

  “I am activating the engine now,” Osadar said, tapping her screen.

  The ion engine thrummed with power as the boat began to decelerate. A jolt shook Marten. Beside him, Nadia’s head struck her headrest, knocking off her cap.

  Compared to the last time they landed on a planet-wrecker, this was a gentle ride. The asteroid was nine-and-a-half kilometers in diameter and first appeared as a smooth object. Soon, on the forward cameras, hills appeared and grew larger. Then ancient impact craters were visible and plains of stardust. The hills loomed steadily larger and they became more jagged. After a time, a single mountain dominated.

  “Look,” Nadia said.

  Marten spied a slagged lump of metal like a melted coin. It must have been a laser-turret once, destroyed by a Doom Star’s heavy beam in the original battle.

  Osadar brought them down as stardust billowed upward, surrounding the craft. Slowly, the patrol boat settled and then the vibration quit as the engine shut down. After eight months in space, they had landed on a solid object.

  * * *

  Even though they had been weightless for months, Marten lectured them on the need to practice caution while exploring the asteroid. If they jumped too high, they would reach escape velocity and simply keep floating. Ever since the Bangladesh, he worried about losing men to space-drift.

  Everyone but Felix was tethered in groups of three, the lines attached to their belts.

  Marten, Omi and Nadia glided across the bleak landscape with Felix and others following. Since they were so near the Sun, they stayed on the dark side. Otherwise, their conditioner-units would have quickly overheated. Marten led, climbing a lunar-like hill. It was so different from being cooped up on the boat. His heavy breathing echoed in his helmet and it felt good to move for an extended time. As he looked around, the stars were bright gems and dust billowed each time a boot struck the ground.

  Clutching a gray rock, Marten steadied himself on the summit. In the valley, he spied a dome. It brought back bitter memories. There was motion to his left. Ah…Nadia climbed beside him. She spooked me. This place does. He pointed into the valley.

  “Look at the dome’s jagged crack,” he said. “It crosses the entire width. A beam must have lased
in a running slash.”

  Through her visor, he saw his wife nod.

  Marten spotted something above. He craned his head as Omi flailed uselessly over him. Grabbing the line, Marten pulled him down.

  “Don’t jump so hard,” Marten said.

  “Rookie mistake,” Omi muttered. He glanced back. “I doubt he’ll do that.”

  Marten looked back, watching Felix move in his powered armor. The Highborn glided perfectly. Only Osadar asteroid-walked with as much confidence and ability.

  That doesn’t mean they’re going to win. Marten shook off the feeling that maybe it did mean that. The fight wasn’t over until it was.

  The giant reached them, looming ominously with his rotating hand-cannon on one arm and a laser carbine in the other.

  “They should have signaled us by now,” Felix said.

  “How many shuttles did you have?” Marten asked.

  “Counting mine, three,” Felix said.

  “Could they have left without you?”

  Felix hesitated, with his visor aimed at the valley dome. “They would have set up a signal,” he finally said.

  “Could they be waiting at the dome?”

  Methodically, Felix examined the landscape. “We must beware. This could be a trap.”

  Marten blew a lungful of air against his visor. He didn’t want to hear that. “We’re using over-watch,” he told the others. “Use passive sensors but be ready to switch to radar and get an exact fix for your weapons. If they don’t hail us first, fire to kill.”

  “If they are ambushing us,” Felix said, “these precautions will do no good.”

  “That’s what Centurion Titus thought,” Marten said.

  Felix’s visor turned toward Marten. It was silver, the face behind it invisible. “You were a shock trooper once, is that not so?”

  “I was.”

  “It shows in your training. You are aggressive.”

  Marten knew Felix meant aggressive like a well-trained beast. He let the insult pass. We have more important things to worry about.

  “Let’s go,” Marten told the marines.