A.I. Void Ship (The A.I. Series Book 6) Page 6

  Before proceeding today, Demeter rubbed her hands, shuffled closer on her knees and opened an access plate. With two thin Seiner rods, she cleaned the machine, replaced a transponder with an extra already here, and then began to recalibrate the settings using the top pad.

  She increased the irritant level from two to four. Heavier TP waves immediately struck her mind. Even though she was ready for it, Demeter tightened her jaw muscles, grinding her teeth together. That soon subsided as her telepathic defenses blocked the stronger, more-irritating waves.

  There was a reason why she had initially begun the Provoker at setting two instead of four. If she had set it higher at the beginning, the human-things might have figured out that something was wrong. Now, they had become used to mild mental irritation. The increase should go unnoticed even as new psychoses would start to sprout among them.

  Demeter smiled. The new psychoses should have interesting repercussions. The non-telepathic animals would show their psychoses in different ways. Some would become more worried. Others would become more aggressive or pout and whine more than ordinary. The Provoker was preparing their weak minds for a full-bore takeover.

  First putting away her tools, Demeter closed the Provoker, crawled out of the secret compartment and shut the hatch behind her. Then she began the long crawl out of the hateful access tube.

  The relief of leaving set her to thinking about the grander scheme of things. Time was not on the Seiner side. They had to gain secret control of the Confederation before the AIs assaulted the Solar System with a Stage 3 Attack. If the Seiners failed to dominate the colonist humans…

  Demeter shook her head. She wasn’t going to contemplate failure. Instead, she thought about the Shangri-La Treatment and how good it would feel to stop itching all the time. How much longer until she had blessed relief, when she could finally shed the skin-suit?

  In her mind, Demeter knew it couldn’t be soon enough.

  -2-

  For Jon Hawkins, the waiting was the hardest part of this mission. Not knowing exactly what was on the other side of a hyperspace journey could twist a man’s insides into a knot of agony.

  Jon ran through a huge corridor in the Nathan Graham, feeling like a stowaway rat. One could drive two tanks abreast along this corridor and still have extra space on the sides. He almost felt insignificant and marveled as he had many times before that he’d led a handful of space marines down this very corridor to capture the cybership many years ago.

  Jon ran today in order to give himself relief from the growing tension. Not knowing what was on the other side of the journey—

  Jon had greater appreciation these days for the histories he read about the Spanish, Portuguese, British, Dutch and French wars on the high seas, as each attempted to create a vast colonial empire. That sailing era was reminiscent of this era of hyperspace travel. Back then, a high seas fleet had sailed over the horizon, never knowing who or what exactly they would run into on the other side.

  Jon ran down the empty corridor for another reason. He needed intensity of some kind about three times a week or he would go stir crazy. That intensity could be running hard until he almost collapsed, a game of chess or cards that he dearly wanted to win or some other head-to-head struggle against himself or a fierce opponent.

  As he ran, a unit on his belt beeped, letting him know he’d gone three kilometers.

  It was strange, but he could concentrate on problems better as he ran alone like this.

  On this mission, the main fleet headed for the Beta Hydri System. It had been a year and a half since the ships had faced a possible battle. That had been against the Cog Primus fleet in the Epsilon Eridani System.

  Whatever had happened to Cog Primus? Had the arrogant computer-mind won a star system, or had the AI Dominion smashed his fourteen-ship fleet?

  Too bad there wasn’t some form of instantaneous communication. The only way to take a message from one star system to another was to physically go there in a hyperspace-capable vessel.

  That meant time, and more time as one traveled from the Oort cloud in-system.

  Since the Epsilon Eridani Situation, it seemed as if he’d been traveling continuously from one Confederation star system to another. The Confederation was growing with these conquests. But with the growth came increasing numbers and varieties of problems.

  A few of the eight cybership-class vessels that had faced the Cog Primus fleet had stayed behind in various star systems, often heading to a space dock for repairs. New vessels fresh from a factory planet had joined the fleet. For the attack on Beta Hydri, Jon had assembled the largest Confederation fleet to date. That should have been making him feel better, not more anxious.

  Jon kicked it up a notch as he turned a corridor corner. He sprinted, not at top speed, but faster than he’d been going.

  The cycled air went in and out of his lungs. The sound of his running shoes hitting the deck was the only noise he could hear in the massive vessel.

  The fleet possessed eleven cybership-class vessels and thirty-one bombards, the triangular-shaped warship of the Star Lords of the Roke.

  It turned out that the bear-like aliens preferred to use their own ship design instead of trusting AI designed monster-vessels. Was that good or bad? Jon didn’t know yet. It was simply another factor in the many he had to consider. The bombards didn’t even have gravitational cannons; they used their old mass drivers, railguns. These weren’t the newest bombards of the Roke Nation, but rather the same ones that had faced the cyberships when humanity first discovered the Star Lords.

  There was more bad news. The Old Man had warned him about these particular Star Lords, as the thirty-one bombard crews came from various Roke clans. The clans had divided themselves into two political groupings. One group, seventeen bombards strong, followed the Long Sword Banner under the chieftainship of Sten Balore. The other crews followed the Chipped Axe Banner under Kegg Ron, with fourteen bombards.

  The two sides hated each other for reasons Jon did not yet understand. He would have to talk to Ambassador Hon Ra about that. Just how badly did the two sides dislike each other? Would they start quarreling and calling each other out for duels?

  As long as the fleet traveled through hyperspace, there was nothing either side could do to the other. Just like the human-crewed vessels, the Warriors of Roke were in their individual warships.

  Maybe he should have just taken one banner along instead of two.

  Jon knew that many considered the large fleet as overkill, given that they were heading to Beta Hydri to capture the last known AI factory planet in the local region. The enemy star system was 24.33 light-years from the Solar System, almost next door and much too close for comfort.

  As Jon sprinted, he wondered if the AI Dominion knew about the Confederation. To him, it seemed as if they had to at this point. Clearly, the Dominion knew about Earth and the Solar System. But according to the latest reports, which had to be dated because of the limits of hyperspace travel, the AI Dominion had not made a third assault upon the Solar System. Surely, the AIs knew by now that the second assault had failed.

  This much Jon did know. The AIs would attack the Solar System in time. He hoped the Solar League could fight off the next robot fleet. He’d purposely left the Solar League alone so the robots could wear themselves out trying to take it. A Confederation war against the Solar League seemed like the height of folly given the nature of their enemy. It was a good thing then that the Solar League did not yet possess hyperspace-traveling capability in order to challenge the Confederation.

  Jon’s heart was beating hard, and his breathing had become ragged. He finally slowed and then came to a halt, reaching out against a bulkhead as he leaned against it with one hand. He panted as sweat drenched him and soaked his running clothes.

  Maybe a few of the critics had a point. This seemed like too big a fleet to try the normal anti-AI virus surprise attack against the Beta Hydri battle station.

  The truth was that Jon was attempting a
variation of his Irrationality Theory. If the AI Dominion already knew about the Confederation and had studied their operational style—both reasonable assumptions—the enemy might have created a deadly surprise for a small fleet or flotilla trying to take out the last factory planet in the accepted Confederation manner.

  If the AIs had set a trap, or if they were waiting for a Confederation flotilla, he wanted a big fleet so he could wipe out the robots’ ambush force and thus start the direct war against the Dominion with a victory.

  It was strange. Jon almost felt as if he was going to miss Cog Primus. At least, they had figured out a way to nullify that crazy AI. The greater Dominion would likely not fall for schemes that would have worked against Cog Primus.

  Jon grimaced. How was he supposed to build a big enough Confederation to take on the Dominion? So far, they had only found two alien species fighting the AIs. There were the Kames and the Center Galaxy aliens with the void ship. What he hadn’t found was any sizeable group of aliens willing to fight with them—except for the Star Lords of the Roke.

  A comm unit on his belt beeped.

  Jon straightened, took the comm unit, pressed a switch with his thumb and put the unit to his right ear.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “You wanted me to alert you when it was three hours until we dropped out of hyperspace,” Gloria said.

  “Got it,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I’m winded. I’ve been running.”

  “I can tell that,” Gloria said. “I hear worry in your voice.”

  Was it that obvious? Instead of addressing her concern, he said, “I’m going to our quarters to shower. I’ll be on the bridge in two hours.”

  “Do you think the AIs know we’re coming?”

  Jon snorted. “That is the question, isn’t it? We should know in three hours.”

  “I’ll meet you on the bridge.”

  “Roger that,” he said. “Bye.”

  “Love you,” Gloria said.

  The words took a moment to make sense. He grinned. “I love you too, babe.”

  Jon hooked the comm unit to his belt. Then, he pivoted and headed off at a good clip for his quarters. In three hours—a lump grew in his throat—in three hours, they should know if the AI Dominion had learned about the Confederation or not.

  -3-

  Jon sat in the captain’s chair on the bridge as data continued to flow in.

  The fleet had dropped out of hyperspace and entered the Beta Hydri System in its Oort cloud. They were a long way from the factory planet, a damn long way at their present velocity.

  “Eighty-six days will bring us to the gas giant,” Gloria reported.

  “Did you factor in our deceleration time?” Jon asked.

  “No. Do you want me to?”

  “Yes,” Jon said, swiveling back to study the main screen.

  From out here in the Oort cloud, the Beta Hydri star appeared a little bigger than the rest of the star field around it. The targeted star had a mass 104 percent that of the Sun, 181 percent of its diameter and 3 times its luminosity. It was G2 IV in stellar classification.

  The factory planet in this instance wasn’t a planet, but a terrestrial-sized moon that orbited a massive gas giant four times the size of Jupiter. Beta Hydri II or Hydri II for short, the gas giant, was just inside the inner star system.

  “Sir,” said a sensor operator. “I can’t find any sign of enemy cyberships.”

  “Is there a battle station?” asked Jon.

  “Yes, sir,” the operator said. “It’s guarding the factory…moon.”

  “That’s a massive gas giant,” Jon noted. “The AIs could easily hide a fleet behind it waiting for us.”

  The comment did not elicit a response.

  Jon tapped his fingers on one of the armrests. Normal procedure called for launched probes. Even at high acceleration, it would take the probes many weeks to reach a position to scan behind Hydri II and its moon. He wasn’t going to launch any probes, though.

  Instead, the fleet continued in-system at its present velocity for many hours with absolutely no reaction from the distant battle station.

  That wasn’t unusual. The battle station couldn’t have spotted them yet. It couldn’t have, because of the limitations of the speed of light. Those limitations not only affected ship travel, but sensor data across a star system.

  Several hours later, Jon took a break in a nearby cafeteria. He got into a discussion with Bast and they stayed several hours.

  Finally, the two parted. Jon returned to the bridge. There were no changes, no signs of a waiting AI fleet.

  Two days later, the battle station sent a long-distance query. Gloria returned a message, claiming to be escorting an alien fleet for dissection and study.

  That mollified the station brain-core for a time.

  During that time, the fleet continued to head in-system at the same velocity it had used to drop out of hyperspace. There were the usual incidents on the cybership-class vessels, on the human-crewed craft. Those incidents did not require any executive decisions and the incidents hardly called for intervention by the Old Man’s Intelligence Department either.

  The same could not be said for the bombard captains. For inexplicable Star-Lord reasons, the Roke captains began to send messages to their hereditary enemies. The replies were returned almost immediately and in time started to become heated. Finally, the captains traded insults and those escalated into hostile accusations until several Star Lords demanded to meet so they could duel to the death.

  Roke Ambassador Hon Ra on the Nathan Graham had kept Jon informed of the situation. The bear-like alien had seemed embarrassed by the situation and often assured Jon nothing would come of it. Now, Hon Ra had asked for a formal audience together with the chief captains of the bombards.

  It turned out that Jon did not reply fast enough to Hon Ra’s request and thus found the ambassador knocking on the hatch to his quarters.

  “What’s going on?” Gloria asked sleepily.

  “I’m going to find out,” Jon said, whipping the covers back in the dark and fumbling for some clothes.

  “You can turn on the light,” Gloria said.

  “Lights,” Jon said.

  Illumination flooded the bedroom. Jon gathered his garments and strapped a gun to his side. Whoever pounded on the hatch sounded huge—or possibly clad in two-ton battle armor.

  “Call your guards,” Gloria suggested.

  Jon didn’t heed her. He marched to the hatch with a blaster in his right fist. “Open,” he said.

  The hatch opened to a towering Hon Ra.

  The older Roke stood over eight-feet and had impressive girth to his chest and shoulders. He looked remarkably like a bipedal bear, with lots of white spotted throughout his brown fur. He wore a blue vest with a long blue cape flowing behind him.

  Normally, Hon Ra was an even-keeled alien. Tonight, his small eyes were bloodshot and he breathed alcoholic fumes down at Jon.

  “I have summoned—” Hon Ra hiccupped and shook his head. “I have called for an audience, sir. You have avoided me, and now the matter has come to a head.”

  Jon holstered his blaster before he accidently shot the ambassador.

  “Step back,” Jon told him.

  Hon Ra straightened to his towering height. “Step back, you say?”

  “I want to come outside in the corridor,” Jon said. “You’re in my way.”

  Hon Ra blinked owlishly before understanding shined in his eyes. He shuffled his feet and seemed to have a problem standing.

  “Are you drunk?” Jon asked.

  “Never,” Hon Ra said, sounding outraged at the idea.

  “Fine, fine,” Jon said. “What’s the problem that can’t wait?”

  “I have told you but now I will become specific. Sten Balore of the Long Sword has challenged Kegg Ron of the Chipped Axe to a duel to the death. Our unity is over. Once a duel-slain banner chief returns to his ship, his ca
ptains are likely to declare war to the bone against the victor.”

  “What’s war to the bone?”

  “When the knife hacks to the bone, then warriors know they are in a battle to the death.”

  “Oh,” Jon said. “Why don’t you put a stop to this then?”

  “Me?” Hon Ra asked indignantly. “I’m an ambassador, not a war leader. Can it be that you don’t know that this is your sacred task?”

  “Would I have asked if I’d known?”

  “In this glory hunt—” Those were the Roke words for mission. “In this glory hunt, you are our war leader, Jon Hawkins. Now, you must enter the ring or lose your command authority.”

  While rubbing his forehead, Jon stared up at Hon Ra. How had it gotten this far? Yes. He’d seen some messages from Hon Ra, but he’d had no idea—

  “What do you mean ‘enter the ring?’” Jon asked.

  “The term seems clear enough. You must assert your authority or the winner of the duel might come to believe he is the greatest warrior in the fleet.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jon said. “This is an allied fleet. This is the first time you Roke have come out to help us. Now, I’m supposed to enter the ring and stop a duel or your warriors are going to fight against each other?”

  “Yes, yes,” Hon Ra said. “Now you perceive the situation.”

  “And if I tell the two banner chiefs that I’ll shoot the victor?”

  “Then you will have lost face. Then Toper Glen will have lost honor in backing you and the human alliance.”

  Toper Glen was the Supreme Star Lord of the Warriors of Roke.

  “Why are you drunk?” Jon asked.

  Hon Ra took a step back. “You dare to ask me that?”

  “Look. I’m not insulting you.”

  “But you are. It is a grave—”

  “Hon Ra!” Jon shouted.

  The huge bear-like alien blinked owlishly once more.

  “You are drunk,” Jon said. “You’re not yourself. Sober up. Get the two banner chiefs and bring them aboard the Nathan Graham. If I have to enter the ring, then so be it. I’m not losing fleet coherence now. I’m the chief, and that’s all there is to it.”