A.I. Assault (The A.I. Series Book 3) Read online

  “G-Good,” she said, her teeth chattering.

  Benz shut the secret door. Their footsteps echoed in the new corridor. The way continued with a slight decline, taking them deeper under the mountain.

  “Is this your Fortress of Solitude?” she asked.

  “You’re not far off the mark.”

  She followed him for several steps, finally saying, “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

  “False modesty is useless. You’ll soon understand.”

  “I’m not sure I want to—if it makes me like you.”

  “I’m not so bad once you get to know me.”

  “What if I find out you’re worse?”

  “That would be a problem.”

  Their conversation faltered. Finally, they reached a new hatch, a thicker, heavier entranceway.

  Benz manipulated the combination. It clicked. He opened the ponderous hatch, shined the light for Vela to enter, and pulled the great hatch so it boomed shut behind them. He used the flashlight to find his way to a bank of controls. He wiped off dust and tapped a correct sequence.

  Far away in the mountain, a generator roared into life. Several seconds later, lights brightened in the chamber. That revealed a larger area than she’d expected, with many machines and strange tools arrayed on metal benches and worktables.

  “This way,” Benz said.

  He hadn’t been under the mountain for three long years. In a way, he was surprised the GSB hadn’t found it by now. He shrugged, deciding that didn’t mean God was with him in this. He had too much blood on his hands with the dead in De Gama House to expect God’s help.

  He counted the hatches, stopping at the fourth one. He turned to Vela. “This is it.”

  She watched him. She no longer hugged herself because warm if oily air moved through the corridor. They had both removed their masks and tanks.

  Benz opened the way, clicked on lights and pointed at a large dentist-like chair with an overhanging helmet. The ensemble was beside a big bank of machinery.

  “What is that?” Vela said.

  Benz had been debating how much he should explain. Finally, he decided on all of it that was pertinent.

  “You’d better sit,” he said, indicating a stool.

  “I have been sitting in the De Gama House and in your flitter for days already. I can stand. I prefer standing.”

  He nodded, sitting down on the stool himself and looking up at her.

  “This will sound…” Benz stopped, figured it would be better not to say “crazy.” People were far more susceptible to suggestion than they realized. If it were not so, advertisers wouldn’t bother with their slogans and sales pitches.

  “My great uncle belonged to a unique set of scientists,” Benz began. “They included an archeologist and an experimental inventor. My great uncle was the latter. To make a long story short, the archeologist worked in Antarctica. He followed ancient leads. There had been a hint in a ruin in the Black Sea—”

  “You’re talking about an underwater ruin?” Vela asked, interrupting.

  “Exactly,” Benz replied. “In the underwater ruin on a rust-free metal sheet, the archeologist discovered the outline of the continent of Antarctica. It also showed a location that was far inland. He kept the find to himself. The archeologist was more paranoid than any Chief Arbiter you’ve ever known. The man’s old heart beat with excitement. Here was a real treasure map, he believed. And he was not wrong.

  “He led a team into the middle of the icy continent, and there he bored one of the deepest shafts ever discovered. He went down with three explorers. According to my great uncle, only the archeologist returned topside. The old relic hunter never told anyone what went on down there, or what they had found. A terrible accident took place that night. The shaft had a cave-in, if that’s the correct way to say it. A mother-of-all-storms hit the team three days later. The old archeologist was the only one to survive.”

  “He killed everyone else?” Vela asked.

  Benz shrugged. “I think so. My great uncle wasn’t sure. It doesn’t really matter.”

  “That’s totally wrong,” Vela declared. “It matters a great deal. Whatever you’re about to show me is tainted by the archeologist’s murderous behavior. I think it explains how easily you murdered everyone in the De Gama House.”

  Benz made a snorting sound. “Vela Shaw, how delightfully innocent you are.”

  “Don’t mock me, and don’t say that. I’m not innocent. Don’t you know why I said what I did about Justinian?”

  “Of course I know. It’s why I sought you out.”

  “I never should have said what I did. Bitterness is an evil root. I’ve expunged that awful memory. I’d rather not talk or think about that day in the park.”

  Benz studied her. “Maybe that’s good for you. What about all the other women Justinian will rape? What if you can prevent that?”

  Vela sighed after a moment. “Keep telling your story. What happened next?”

  “Yes, well,” Benz said, “the archeologist had raided a prehistoric colony. My great uncle believed it had been a colony of aliens on Earth. For reasons we don’t know, the aliens perished. Not all of their technology perished with them, however. The archeologist took a small machine. This machine he brought to my great uncle.

  “Now, this is where the story gets interesting.”

  “I would think the idea of an alien colony on Earth during prehistoric times would be exciting enough,” Vela said.

  “By a long and painstaking process, my great uncle took apart the alien machine. He studied, tested and probed it for over six years. Finally, he built that.”

  Benz indicated the machine and dentist-like chair.

  “What does it do?” Vela asked softly.

  “The archeologist was the first test subject,” Benz said, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “He died as a raving lunatic. My great uncle made adjustments afterward. He made more tests. Finally, he visited me and convinced me to join him.”

  “I thought you said a team of people worked with him.”

  “They had. The GSB had gotten to all of them. They all died in various ways, most horribly. But the fact they never revealed the machine—this machine—shows that my great uncle’s invention worked in one particular.”

  “What was that?”

  “He had forbidden them to speak about the machine or this hideaway. He had each go under the machine as he gave them the single instruction. I am quite certain his words consigned many of the captured to gruesome ends.”

  “Because of GSB torture?”

  Benz nodded.

  Vela shuddered, hugging herself once more. “Please, let me leave. I don’t want to know more.”

  Benz smiled faintly. She didn’t mean that. “I went under the chair, as my great uncle used to put it. He lowered the metal dome on my head and made the first adjustment. I had two sessions in the chair. It altered my brain to an excessive degree. The chair made me smarter, much smarter than any human in history.”

  “And…?”

  “My great uncle died because the GSB took him. I imagine they interrogated him first, tortured him. But he could no more tell them about this place than any of his predecessors could.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Indeed,” Benz said. “That’s when I started on my quest. I decided to change the nature of the Solar League. I put myself in the right place for the right time. I helped a monster rise to power because I thought I could use him. Alas, despite my genius, I have made three missteps. Because I am so weak politically, I could not afford even one misstep. Despite my genius, I am still just one man. I have blind areas. All people do. I have thought to myself, ‘What if I can find a helpmate, someone I can truly trust.’”

  “Me?” Vela asked. “But you don’t know me.”

  “I know enough about you. You hate Justinian. I suspect you dislike Social Dynamism.”

  “I’ve never thought about that. I certainly don’t like using force to
make people think one way or another.”

  “Excellent!” Benz said. “You believe in personal freedom.”

  Vela thought about that. She gave a small laugh. “Yes, I suppose I do. I’d just never put it into words before.”

  Benz stood. He approached the beautiful and morally upright Vela Shaw. He took one of her hands in his.

  “Vela,” he said, while staring her in the eyes. “Will you help me?”

  “How?” she whispered.

  “I want you to go under the chair, as it were. I want to increase your intelligence many times. By putting our heads together, I’m hoping we can come up with a plan to eliminate Justinian and his oppressive rule, change Social Dynamism and unite the Solar System so we can take on the murderous cyberships with a chance of success.”

  “That is an amazingly tall order.”

  “It is. It must be. To whom much is given, much is required.”

  She turned away, although she didn’t pull her hand away from his. “I don’t know.”

  He squeezed gently.

  Her shoulders deflated. She turned back and searched his eyes. “Will the process hurt?”

  “Some,” he admitted.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m willing.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. They were going to do this. “Now is as good a time as any to start,” he said.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

  Still hand-in-hand, Benz led Vela to the machine.

  PART III

  TRANS-NEPTUNIAN REGION

  -1-

  Since gaining dominance of the frail body of Eli Gomez, the alien thought-patterns of Methlan Rath of Janus House had considerably changed it.

  Methlan had begun a strict régime of forced eating and weightlifting. Eli might have been satisfied with the body’s frailty. Methlan certainly wasn’t. The weakness of the body’s muscles and the shameful lack of endurance disgusted the once powerful prince.

  Almost every day, Methlan went to the gym. He did legs one day, concentrating on squats. He bench-pressed and did triceps the second day, while he devoted the third day to deadlifts and biceps curls. The fourth day he rested. The fifth day, he started the process all over again. Soon, he added long walks and then wind sprints. He would forge something better than what he’d received. This body would never match his former frame, but it would be capable of considerably more physical effort than before.

  Time passed as Methlan put on weight and muscle. A few of the gym-rats began to notice him. He talked with them, made friends, and they gave him weightlifting advice.

  Methlan might have sneered at the help, but this was a human body, not that of the High Race of Janus House. The gym-rats proved helpful. One or two suggested he use steroids.

  Methlan thought about it, but disliked the side effects. Good eating and strenuous training would give him what he needed.

  When he wasn’t improving his body with exercise, Methlan worked as a tech. He volunteered every chance he could. He strove to make himself invaluable. He had no time for relaxation. He had too many goals to achieve. Besides, by lifting, working, eating and sleeping, he kept so busy he didn’t have to worry about running afoul of the Old Man’s people.

  As Methlan did these things, work went apace on MK2 and down on Makemake. Marines had swept the spaceport wreckage, killing two AIs but finding no others.

  The days merged, becoming a week. The weeks piled one on top of another. Finally, the heavily modified NSN Destroyer Daisy Chain 4 was ready to leave Makemake and head for Senda.

  An accident took out two techs assigned to join Walleye and his team aboard the destroyer. Methlan hardly knew anything about the Makemake citizen or the citizen’s woman. Apparently, they had volunteered to command the destroyer and go on the mission. Captain Hawkins had accepted their offer.

  Methlan knew Walleye was short and possessed stubby arms and legs. How could Jon Hawkins let a weak mutant run the mission? It made no sense. Yet, that had given Methlan an idea. The daring of the new idea amazed him and propelled him to even greater zealousness.

  Methlan worked and plotted until his eyelids drooped. He often awoke with his head slumped over a computer panel.

  The destroyer lacked two needed techs. Hawkins asked for volunteers. Methlan was one of the first to say he’d do it.

  That led to an interview with Captain Hawkins.

  Methlan entered the captain’s quarters on the moon. Like him, Hawkins was busy to the point of absurdity. The prince recognized a driven individual. He tried to make sure Hawkins didn’t recognize him.

  “Let’s see,” Hawkins said from behind his desk. The captain pretended to study a tablet. Methlan knew the foul man was studying him instead. At last, Hawkins set down the tablet.

  “Why do you want to go?” Hawkins asked.

  Methlan had sat forward with his hands hanging between his knees. He clutched his hands as he gave a tremulous smile.

  “I want to stop the cybers, sir. I don’t want them getting to Mars.”

  Hawkins nodded approvingly.

  Methlan would have snorted, but that would not do. He’d studied Jon Hawkins from afar. He’d used every trick to learn whatever he could in order to form a picture of the lying killer.

  “It’s going to be a dangerous run,” Hawkins said. “The destroyer has new, more advanced weapons. It can accelerate at almost at the same rate as the Nathan Graham. But it’s a small ship. There will only be a few of you. What’s more, the AIs may have built a bigger and better ship on Senda. I don’t have time to take the cybership to Senda. What I’m saying, Mr. Gomez, is that this is a highly dangerous mission.”

  “If Walleye can do it, sir, I believe that I can too.”

  The good will on Hawkins’ face evaporated. Methlan realized he’d made a mistake. Likely, Hawkins didn’t distrust freaks as he, the prince, did.

  “What I mean, Captain, is that the people of the Solar System are uniting. Makemake has already faced and suffered from the dreaded invader. Yet, Walleye still helps the rest of us to defeat the terrible menace. Can I, a man of Mars, do any less?”

  “I see,” Hawkins said.

  Methlan didn’t understand what he’d done wrong. Thus, he now remained silent. Digging a deeper hole was seldom a good idea.

  “It’s funny,” Hawkins said. “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met you before.”

  Methlan almost froze. Somehow, he was giving his true nature away. He might hate Hawkins. That didn’t mean the man was stupid. He must tread cautiously.

  “I don’t…think we’ve met, Captain.”

  “I do. I’m seldom wrong about that. I know we’ve met, Mr. Gomez. Tell me a little more about yourself.”

  Methlan dredged what memories he could from Eli’s mind. That proved little enough, but it seemed to satisfy the sinister Hawkins.

  “I’ve heard reports about your exercise mania.”

  “If I’d been in better shape, maybe I could have saved my friends.”

  “According to what I’ve read, you don’t remember the accident.”

  “I don’t remember the incident,” Methlan said. “That’s what bothers me. Call it a guilty conscience.”

  Hawkins nodded noncommittally. The bastard asked a few more questions, made a few comments about fighting to the bitter end and told Methlan he’d decide on the crew roster in the next few days.

  Methlan thanked him and was dismissed shortly thereafter.

  Two days later, Methlan received his answer. It was outside the gym in a corridor. Gloria Sanchez walked up to him. Had she been waiting here?

  The mentalist informed him that the captain had assigned him to the Daisy Chain 4. She congratulated him, shaking his hand.

  Methlan realized she was studying him. He could feel the unease in her. That was another reason he wanted to go on the destroyer. He had come to realize that sooner or later they would sense the Prince of Ten Worlds in Eli Gomez. He didn’t know how
or why, he just realized that event might come far sooner than he wanted.

  “You’re going to chase the enemy all the way to the Oort cloud if you have to,” the mentalist said.

  “I do not understand.”

  “By this time tomorrow, I assure you, you will.”

  That sounded ominous. Was this a veiled threat? Methlan almost decided to break her neck and implement Plan 3-C. Instead, he retreated, deciding he would play out the game for as long as he could.

  -2-

  The destroyer accelerated hard—over 50 Gs—toward Senda, 212 AUs away. The new engine purred much more quietly than the old one. But with the gravity controls at full strength, a steady thrum-thrum beat throughout the triangular-shaped vessel.

  The Daisy Chain 4 resembled the old NSN vessel in its basic shape. Otherwise, the changes to the ship were quite startling. It seemed more chrome-like and sleeker, deadlier, more alien seeming. The robo-builders on MK2 had completely overhauled the vessel.

  In one way, it was exactly like a Neptunian Navy ship. On top of the triangular-shaped destroyer was a rack. In the rack was a huge drone. The drone was longer than the destroyer. On the bottom of the Daisy Chain 4 were two more similarly huge drones. These were special objects. They had fantastic acceleration ability. They had the most up-to-date sensors, the best electronic counter measures (ECM) and intensely powerful matter/antimatter warheads. The three Hercules drones were one of the chief reasons Hawkins was allowing Walleye to try to chase down the Senda-launched AI vessel.

  Walleye sat in the captain’s chair, even though he only ranked lieutenant in the Solar Freedom Fleet, the SFF. The lieutenant was short, with coarse hair and an odd face. You could never tell where Walleye was staring exactly. It was an unsettling quality. Instead of a regular uniform, the mutant wore a buff coat. He seemed to live in the oversized garment. Methlan had come to believe that Walleye hid weapons in the coat.

  The mutant’s short arms and legs always upset Methlan. He considered the lieutenant to be a freak. The word mutant seemed too kind, too forgiving to Methlan’s way of thinking.