A.I. Battle Station (The A.I. Series Book 4) Read online

  “We don’t have chaos,” Jon said. “We have three competing power blocs.”

  “Exactly,” Benz said. “That’s the problem, the competing. We need to send out scouts. We have to know what’s going on out there. But who will dare to send out a powerful scout when he needs that ship back home to keep his political power?”

  “We need to do more than scout,” Jon said. “We also have to hit the AIs before they hit us again.”

  “Is that necessarily true?” Benz said. “Maybe hitting them would be the worst possible thing to do right now.”

  “You’re wrong,” Jon said. “In order to win, one has to eventually go on the offensive.”

  “Obviously,” Benz said. “That is elementary strategy. But what if the AIs aren’t concerned about us yet? Maybe it will take years before they send another assault force into the Solar System.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’m not saying that’s what they’re going to do,” Benz said. “I suggest it’s a possibility. Maybe the wiser course is to find allies, to build up our strength as fast as possible. Maybe the wisest course is to gain Solar System unity and send massed robo-builders to Earth.”

  “Okay…” Jon said. “I see your point. Maybe attacking hard isn’t the right thing at the moment. Scouting out the AI Empire is sorely needed for us to know that, though.”

  “Yet another self-evident statement,” Benz said.

  “Okay, Mr. Genius,” Jon said, nettled. “What do you think we should do?”

  Benz stared at him, the predatory smile widening for just an instant and then disappearing.

  “I’m torn,” the Premier said. “Maybe we should merge the Mars Unity and the SFF. Maybe we should smash the Earth Fleet and besiege the planet until they surrender. At that point, we ship robo-builders there.”

  “You want to regain your old title on Earth?”

  “Earth has by far the greatest percentage of population and industrial potential in the system. We’re not going to gain our maximum until we have Earth. Venus isn’t as critical. I’m also wary about exploring out there too hard, too soon. Building up our strength here seems like the wisest course.”

  “You’re just guessing,” Jon said. “Knowledge is critical to making the right decision.”

  “I don’t dispute that.” The smile reappeared. “Obviously, you want to explore other star systems. You’re chomping at the bit to enter hyperspace. You’re an attacker by nature. That’s plain to see. But you must also fear what I’ll do in the Nathan Graham’s absence. You think I’ll try to dismember your league, adding planetary systems to the Mars Unity.”

  “We’re like Alexander the Great’s generals after his death,” Jon said suddenly. “The successors fought over Alexander’s empire, each squabbling with the other for a bigger share of the pie. In time, Rome appeared on the horizon. The successors should have joined forces and destroyed Rome when they had the strength to do it. Instead, the legions conquered the Hellenistic kingdoms one by one until they were all subjugated.”

  “It’s true, then,” Benz said. “You read military history, and you have a knack for applying it to modern-day problems. In this instance, the AIs are Rome. The three human power blocs are Alexander the Great’s successors. It is an apt analogy.”

  Benz appeared thoughtful.

  “What if I told you that this is the wrong time to explore the nearby region?” the Premier asked.

  “I’d want to know why you think that,” Jon said.

  “I’ve already said. I think your exploring might trigger another AI assault before we can build up strength enough to stop them.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The amount of time and effort it will take the AIs to gather nine cyberships in one place.”

  “Okay,” Jon said. “I’ll bite. Why did you think they’ll attack with nine, and why do you think getting nine cyberships together will be difficult for them?”

  “Last time, the AIs attacked with three times the effort as before,” Benz said. “Given machine thinking, I suspect they’ll try with three times as much again. You should be more precise, though. I didn’t say gathering nine cyberships in one place would be difficult, but that it will take time and effort on their part. I can’t see them possessing a faster-than-light communication system. That means going to each place with messenger ships. Travel time for carrying and gathering the messaging is what will take them the extended time. During that lull, we can build up our reserves to crush their next invading force.”

  “That’s a lot of ifs on your part,” Jon said. “If you’re wrong—humanity dies.”

  “If you go out there and stir up the hornet’s nest too soon, we’re just as dead. Logically, my way is safer.”

  “And if I don’t agree with you?” Jon asked.

  The predatory smile widened. “Then by all means, take the Nathan Graham into hyperspace and find out for yourself.”

  “Yeah…” Jon said. He’d just about made up his mind to kill this would-be Genghis Khan.

  At that moment, something small and fast struck Benz’s upper chest-plate. It ricocheted off but left a dent. The force or the surprise of the thing propelled the Martian battlesuit backward.

  Benz must have stumbled. The landline stretched between them as the Martian battlesuit moved farther away. Jon instinctively held his ground. The landline stretched farther and snapped.

  Jon stumbled backward, which might have saved his life. Similar small dark objects whizzed past the spot where he’d been standing. They struck the rocky surface, sending up puffs of fine grit and particles of rock.

  “Something’s firing at us,” Benz said over Jon’s wireless comm phone.

  Jon’s eyes widened as he saw three creatures using tentacles to propel themselves across the rocky surface at them. He’d seen things like this before. Each of the metallic octopoid robots cradled some kind of rocket rifle, aiming at him.

  “It’s an ambush!” Jon shouted. “The robots have found us.”

  -7-

  The metallic octopoids must have fired a type of gyroc-shell. Dark objects zoomed from the rifles and burned hot as the rocket shells propelled the small penetrators faster.

  Jon reacted faster than Benz did. The ex-mercenary bent to one knee and then went prone behind a rocky outcropping. For a moment, he was blind to the action.

  He looked up in time to see several shells slam against Benz’s battlesuit. Two ricocheted off the hardened armor. One punched through, causing air to hiss out of the breach, and Benz groaned over the comm-phones.

  Jon chinned a switch. He felt a vibration as two smart missiles launched from his pack. They roared low to the surface, expelling hot exhaust. Amazingly, the octopoids destroyed one of the smart missiles in flight. The other missile swerved, swerved the other way and slammed against an AI robot, exploding with destructive power. Shrapnel from the blast shredded a second octopoid. The third dropped into a crevice, possibly surviving.

  “Benz?” Jon said.

  All he heard from the Premier was heavy panting.

  With his gyroc rifle, Jon waited and snapped off three quick shots as the surviving octopoid reappeared. The robot was approximately four hundred meters away.

  The gyroc shells roared with power, but missed.

  Jon could see the octopoid aiming carefully—a third smart missile launched a few seconds ago caught the robot in the side, obliterating the thing in a shower of metal shards.

  Jon was up and moving, reaching the wheezing Benz. He put a quick-seal patch over the hole so the suit could regain its internal integrity.

  “Are you a dead man, Benz?”

  “No…” the Premier panted. “But it hurts like a son of a bitch,” he added.

  Jon slowly turned in a circle, using the battlesuit’s sensors. He saw another three-octopoid team heading toward them. They came from the other direction. They must have been the ones who had fired the first long-distance shots at them.

  “Mayday,
mayday,” Jon said over the comm. “Can you hear me Gilgamesh or Nathan Graham?”

  Benz reached up from where he lay prone on the surface, clutching Jon’s left suit arm. “The robots are jamming our signals,” the Premier whispered painfully. “Advanced tech…” He panted harder before adding, “No one knows the AIs are out here with us.”

  “They’re not AIs,” Jon said. “They’re octopoid robots. I’ve faced them before on the Nathan Graham.”

  “They’re from your cybership?”

  “I doubt it,” Jon said. “Of course,” he said a second later.

  “What is it?” Benz said with greater strength.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Give me a little more time to recoup. I’ve pumped myself full of painkillers and stims. They should start working soon.”

  Jon let go of Benz and swiveled around. The approaching octopoids had fanned out.

  “Okay, you bastards,” Jon said under his breath. He tapped his arm, sending out a powerful pulse signal. He didn’t think the octopoids would be able to completely jam that, primarily because he was sure the jamming unit was out in space a thousand kilometers or more.

  After sending the pulse, Jon lay down and began snapping off gyroc shots at the approaching octopoids. He launched several smart missiles, as well.

  He wondered why the robots didn’t launch anything like that. Did the creatures want to capture them?

  An explosion out there showed where a smart missile took out an octopoid. The last two began firing back. Without the outcropping of rock as protection, those shells would have hammered Jon’s battlesuit.

  “They’re going to have to use heavier ordnance or try to rush us,” Jon said.

  Thirty seconds later, that’s exactly what the octopoids attempted. But instead of two robots rushing him, five of them crawled out of a hidden crevice and glided for his position.

  Jon began targeting the octopoids, coolly firing the gyroc rifle. He was saving the last smart missiles for a greater menace. He was fairly certain he could take out the five machines with the rifle.

  The first destroyed robot floated lifelessly across the surface, its brain core shattered.

  One after another and by using several magazines, Jon took out the remaining four.

  “Other direction,” Benz wheezed.

  Jon looked back.

  Benz in his Martian battlesuit had climbed up to the overhang above them.

  “What do you see?” Jon said.

  “There are more robots coming,” Benz said. He began to fire at them.

  Jon scrambled up to help. As he moved into position, his suit scanner gave a warning beep. He swiveled around. Three more octopoids glided at them from the former direction. How many robots were on the asteroid, and why were they coming in waves instead of all at once?

  “Benz, behind you.”

  With his gloved hands, Jon propelled himself down from the cliff toward the original protective rock.

  The three gliding octopoids fired. One shell slammed against his battlesuit, but the Neptunian armor held. He made it behind the protective rock before more shells could strike the suit. The same couldn’t be said for Benz. Four penetrators hammered him. Three bounced off the armor, leaving dents or gouge streaks. The last penetrator round breached the suit at the neck joint.

  Benz float-tumbled down the rest of the way to the surface.

  For a moment, Jon closed his eyes as if in pain. He opened them a second later and continued firing at the enemy until his rifle clicked empty.

  He launched the remaining smart missiles, taking out the trio with them.

  That left the other octopoids coming from the other direction.

  “Benz?” Jon said over the comm.

  There was no answer. Was Benz dead? That was a good bet. Still, the man had taken plenty of stims and painkillers earlier. Maybe they would help to keep him alive for a little longer. The suit had closed the neck breach so the man shouldn’t die from lack of air.

  He picked up Benz in his battlesuit. The negligible gravity allowed him to do so effortlessly. Then, he began to jump-glide as he fast as he could away from the overhang of rock. He had to get away before the last octopoids got here.

  -8-

  The AI or robot jamming was still blocking communications with the cyberships. Why hadn’t the crew of either vessel used visual targeting to first see the situation and then sniper-beam the octopoids into oblivion?

  “Benz,” Jon said. “Can you hear me?”

  There was still no answer.

  Jon glided faster. This might be too fast. If he wasn’t careful or got unlucky, he might launch them both spaceborne. That would be the end for both of them. Of course, he could escape faster on his own, but he simply couldn’t leave Benz to the octopoids. He hadn’t yet decided to kill Benz.

  Jon laughed sourly. None of that mattered now. Even if Benz was still alive, Jon wasn’t sure that he could keep them both that way for much longer.

  With the visor’s zoom function, he saw a blurry shape moving fast over the horizon toward them.

  He jump-glided with Benz in his arms, scanning the rocky landscape, searching for more octopoids. If they had this many—

  A dark object hissed past him from behind.

  Jon swiveled his helmet, looking back. The first octopoid had crossed the overhanging outcropping of the meeting place. The thing sighted him with its rifle. As it did, more octopoids appeared.

  “Here goes,” Jon said. He began swerving, moving this way and that as suddenly as he could, trying to throw off their targeting.

  Behind him, yet more octopoids appeared, nine altogether. That was too many.

  Jon gritted his teeth and continued to jump-glide as fast as he could. An enemy shell slammed against his back, shattering the smart-missile launcher. Another struck his helmet, making a loud gong inside and nearly throwing him off-stride.

  With a fatalistic shout, Jon leaped as hard as he could and launched himself into space. The octopoids would have to follow if they wanted their bodies. He also had another reason for jumping.

  The previously blurry object heading toward him moved faster yet. It wasn’t an octopoid. It was a ship, a shuttle to be exact, the Wastrel. He had preset the shuttle to come to his rescue before he’d left because Gloria had said she’d seen something strange in orbit or on the asteroid.

  Hornet missiles launched from the Wastrel’s pod, picking up speed fast.

  As Jon flew upward with Benz cradled in his arms, another enemy shot slammed against the Premier’s suit, breaching it yet again.

  Martian battlesuits were built for speed. Neptunian battlesuits had heavier armor. The results showed today as more shells hammered against Jon’s suit. One of them was going to breach the armor soon.

  The Wastrel’s missiles flashed past Jon as they headed at the enemy. He waited, expecting octopoid shells to strike his suit again.

  On his suit scanner, he saw explosions behind him.

  Jon dared to turn in order to get a visual. He couldn’t see any more octopoids chasing him. No enemy missiles lifted at him. The Wastrel had taken out all nine robots. Was that it, then? Or did the robots have more tricks up their sleeves?

  Jon didn’t feel that he was out of the fire yet. For the first time, though, he had the luxury of time to wonder how the octopoids had known to set an ambush here. The probability of that happening…

  Did the octopoids belong to Benz? Then why had they fired on him? Maybe the Solar League had gotten hold of alien tech after all. He doubted that, though. The likeliest explanation was the simplest. The AIs had dumped reserve robots into the Solar System a year and a half ago. Somehow, hidden robots had gotten hold of the meeting time and location and sent killers after them.

  What else made sense? Yet, if that was true—

  Jon shook his head and concentrated on the approaching shuttle. It braked. He had to get aboard and save the Premier’s life if he could. If Benz died out here…

  The cre
w aboard the Gilgamesh might not accept an octopoid-ambush explanation. They would likely pin the blame on him, and that might start a war between the Mars Unity and the SFF.

  Maybe that had been the octopoid plan. If so, it was brilliant, likely the best thing they could have done under the circumstances.

  Apparently, he had a few minutes grace concerning the Gilgamesh crew, maybe a little longer. The enemy jammer was still working, keeping him from communicating with the Nathan Graham or the Gilgamesh. He still couldn’t understand why gravitational cannons weren’t beaming or why the Gilgamesh’s people hadn’t used powerful anti-jammers to break through the robot jamming signals. If they knew there was trouble, the cybership should have loomed over the asteroid by now, right?

  There was something going on that Jon didn’t understand.

  As the Wastrel slid into position, with the open hatch a target, Jon sailed toward his shuttle. If Benz was still alive, he had to get him into the emergency medical unit pronto.

  -9-

  After getting inside, Jon first took the Wastrel down low near the surface and set the scanner on automatic.

  Next, he clomped over to the prone Benz in his suit. Good breathable air cycled in the cabin. As a beep told him it was possible to breathe in here now, Jon began to unbuckle the Martian helmet from the suit.

  Benz was a chalky white color with blood dripping from his nose and mouth. His breathing was quick and shallow.

  Jon worked fast, unbuckling the seals on Benz’s battlesuit. Like a turtle taken from its shell, the Premier looked withered and weak, with blood covering him and still pumping out of two wounds. The neck wound was the worst.

  Jon moved fast and carefully, as he was still wearing his battlesuit. He applied pseudo-skin to the neck wound. Gently picking up Benz, he moved to the back and used a boot to a touch a switch. An emergency bed slid out of the bulkhead.

  Jon set Benz on the bed. A med-monitor began to analyze the stricken Premier. Jon attached a breather to the man’s face and watched as hypos injected needed drugs into the man’s system. A moment later, the bed slid back into the bulkhead.