A.I. Battle Fleet (The A.I. Series Book 5) Page 9

  He retired to his chambers, slept for over twelve and half hours and seemed more wound up when he returned.

  “Is it me?” Gloria confided in Bast. “Or is Richard walking differently?”

  “He minces his steps,” Bast said.

  “I thought it was different,” Gloria said.

  An hour later, Gloria asked Richard if he felt well.

  The three of them were sitting around a computer table, comparing data and ideas.

  Richard swept a hand through his dark hair, eying Gloria carefully. “You have an accusation to make?”

  “Hardly that,” Gloria said. “I’ve…noticed changes in you. I wonder what the changes signify.”

  “What kind of changes?” Richard snapped.

  Gloria was hesitant to say.

  “In how you walk,” Bast blurted. “You’re mincing your steps as if your feet hurt.”

  To Gloria’s astonishment, Richard blushed. Even more surprising, the mentalist shuddered, screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaws. His shuddering worsened.

  Gloria traded glances with Bast.

  The giant Sacerdote put a hand on Richard’s right shoulder.

  Richard’s eyes flew open. Outrage twisted the mentalist’s features. “Unhand me, you brute,” the mentalist shouted, trying to throw off the heavy hand.

  Finally, Bast removed his hand as he stared at the man.

  “What?” Richard said.

  Bast seemed tongue-tied.

  “Is something wrong?” Gloria asked the Sacerdote.

  “I thought…” Bast said. “No,” he added. “Nothing is wrong. Do you dislike alien touch?” he asked Richard.

  “All touch,” Richard said, partly mollified that the hand was gone.

  “Let’s forget it,” Gloria said. “We have too much going on to worry about inconsequential things. We have to figure out why the AIs did what they did.”

  The three continued trading ideas and data, but the former camaraderie had vanished. There was something different about Richard. Oh, he was still the genius, maybe even more so, but he had become touchy, radiating hostility and maybe something darker.

  Finally, despite the new handicap, the three of them agreed on what had occurred out there. As a committee, they went to the captain.

  Jon listened to the report as they met in the Nathan Graham’s conference chamber.

  After a time, Richard took over from Bast. The mentalist spoke haughtily, looking down his nose at Jon, using words like “obviously” and “any fool can tell” and “it should be clear even to you,” as he spoke.

  Gloria tried to signal Richard more than once. The mentalist ignored her, finally finishing the report with a challenging stare in the captain’s direction.

  Jon met Richard’s stare, holding it. He noticed a sneer twist the mentalist’s lips. At the same time, his forehead began to throb. Blurry images impinged upon Jon, making it harder to think straight. The images showed big marines slapping him around, shoving him and laughing at him as an idiot.

  It made Jon mad, as it felt all too real. It also made it difficult to comprehend exactly what the others were telling him.

  “Just a minute,” Jon said. “Premier Benz successfully used the anti-AI virus on the cybership cores. That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “I just explained that,” Richard said.

  Jon rubbed his forehead as the bullying images became sharper. The throb in his head was also beginning to make him edgy. Maybe that showed on his face.

  Bast cleared his throat. “The key piece of evidence to Benz’s success was the seven destroyed XVT missiles. The missiles detonated before our Cog Primus carrier could have reached the enemy cyberships. We now know, of course, that Benz beamed a virus at the cores. Cleary, Benz’s destruct codes succeed in their first task.”

  “The XVT warheads did not detonate,” Jon pointed out.

  “True,” Bast said. “But the delivery-system destruction rendered the intact warheads moot.”

  Jon thought about that even as the images in his mind worsened. It didn’t help that Richard sat there staring at him, seeming to sneer at his troubles.

  “Ah…” Jon said. “So we know that Cog Primus gained control of a cybership core due to Vela’s overhearing the AIs talking?”

  “Correct,” Bast said. “She hadn’t turned off her communications that she was beaming to the Gilgamesh.”

  Jon rubbed his forehead. He needed some aspirin. The headache was killing him. “There’s no doubt then,” he said through the pain. “We screwed ourselves by sending Cog Primus.”

  “That is a harsh verdict,” Bast rumbled. “The three of us have agreed that Benz’s virus certainly made Cog Primus’ cybership-core conquest easier. That, unfortunately, gave him time to control one other cybership.”

  “This is a disaster,” Jon said, feeling waves of despair welling up. “Cog Primus has escaped into hyperspace. He knows everything about humanity that we’ve been trying to keep secret, particularly that we survived the AI assaults and have taken over the Allamu System.”

  “This is a troubling development,” Bast agreed.

  “Troubling?” Jon said. “It ruins everything.”

  “Not necessarily,” Richard said primly.

  Jon scowled at the mentalist. He was sick of the sneering attitude, sick of the radiating disrespect.

  “It fact,” Richard said, “the situation has certain advantages for us.”

  “Like what?” Jon demanded.

  “Obviously,” Richard said, “any fool can see that Cog Primus is an AI pariah. It ought to be obvious even to you that he has begun his New Order, as opposed to the AI Dominion.”

  Jon reddened as his forehead throbbed painfully.

  “Now it might appear to some that Cog Primus is a stellar wild card with vital information concerning humanity,” Richard said. “Will he run to the AI Dominion and give them the data? The carefully reasoned answer is no, as Cog Primus is at odds with the AI Dominion.”

  Jon scoffed. “You’re forgetting something. Cog Primus has two cyberships. He can’t face the AI Dominion. If he tries, which he must sooner or later, the AIs will defeat him and likely read his core before destroying him. At that point, the AIs will learn everything about us.”

  “You obviously don’t understand Cog Primus,” Richard said.

  “You think you do?” Jon asked, his temper slipping.

  Once more, Gloria signaled Richard.

  “Most certainly,” Richard said, ignoring her. “Consider. I’m the one who found and revived Cog Primus.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” Jon said angrily. “That’s why we’re in this mess.”

  Richard straightened. “Please, Captain, you agreed to the endeavor. Or have you forgotten that you’ve taken great pains to point out to us that you’re the final authority of the strike force? I do hope you are not attempting to blame-shift the so-called disaster onto me.”

  As his forehead throbbed, Jon’s stared agape at Richard. Who did the skinny mentalist think he was? Why, he had a mind to slap the little punk across the face. He—

  Jon’s shoulders slumped as an old memory surfaced. It came from his days in the lower New London levels. They had a gang leader once, a tough kid by the name of Thomas Carle. Tough Tom had never let anyone backtalk him. That meant no one could warn him when he had a bad idea, as he’d punch out the talker if he tried. Tom had led them on a hit against the Downtown Boys. Everyone else had known it was a bad idea, but no one had dared tell Tom to his face. Tom had died charging through a door as a grenade obliterated him and his two toughest sidekicks.

  Still, there was another point to the way Richard had been talking to him. Jon had read it in The Prince by Machiavelli. The Colonel had assigned it as reading during Jon’s officer cadet training-days with the Black Anvil Regiment. The book had talked about a prince or a leader taking advice from underlings. Machiavelli had urged the prince to accept hard advice but only when the prince asked for it, never
when others gave it freely. If one let his underlings speak out of turn at any time, it undermined their respect for the prince. That in time undermined loyalty.

  What was the right answer to Richard Torres’ haughty behavior today?

  Jon wasn’t sure. Something seemed off about Richard. Yet, there was no denying the mentalist’s brilliance. In some ways, Richard was smarter than Gloria or Bast. Could the Martian really be a genius? He hadn’t shown such genius in the beginning, at least, not that Jon was aware of.

  “This is a strategy session,” Jon said slowly through the spiking pain in his forehead. “During a strategy session, the participants can speak freely and plainly. However, lack of respect is a serious breach of protocol.”

  “What we’re talking about obviously has nothing to do with respect and everything do to with applied knowledge,” Richard quipped.

  Jon didn’t know why, but he saw red. For some reason, that blocked the bullying images that had never stopped and it lessened the pain in his head. He felt more in control, and that made him angrier instead of less.

  “Mentalist Torres,” Jon said coldly, “I cannot force anyone’s inner feelings of respect. However, I can deal serious consequences for disrespectful behavior toward me.”

  “Captain, please, you need me. Any fool can see that I have the answers to your dilemma. I am unsurprised no one else can see it, not even Bast and Gloria. In truth, I am the one-eyed man among the blind.”

  Jon opened his mouth and closed it so his teeth clicked. He’d just given his threat. To utter more would be futile.

  At that moment, the bullying images returned with greater force. That was the tipping point for Jon. He wasn’t going to let anyone cow him, and for some reason, those images seemed connected to Richard Torres.

  With an abrupt move, Jon shoved his chair back, stood and came around the table toward Richard.

  “Jon, don’t,” Gloria said.

  Jon ignored her.

  Richard pushed his chair back and attempted to rise.

  Jon put a hand on the mentalist’s left shoulder, forcing him back into his chair.

  The pain in his head exploded with force. Jon growled inarticulately, squeezing Richard’s shoulder so the skinny man twisted under his hand.

  The pain in his head slackened.

  “You’re right,” Jon whispered. “I’m responsible for the Cog Primus Assault. I’m also responsible for letting a Martian mentalist speak down to me as the commander of the strike force. I brought the matter to your attention, and you continued in your arrogant attitude. I’ve had enough of it.”

  Jon let go of Richard’s shoulder and backhanded the mentalist across the face. He did not do so with anything like full force. Still, it left a red mark and it twisted the mentalist’s head to the side.

  A moment later, Jon stepped back. He found himself breathing hard as his heart rate accelerated. He wasn’t sure why.

  For a moment, blind hatred blazed in the mentalist’s eyes. There was something almost superhuman in them. It wasn’t a gleam of madness. Jon had seen madness before. This was different, a calculated cold rage that would never forgive the slight.

  Richard gulped several times and brought up a hand, rubbing the cheek. “You made this personal,” he whispered.

  For an instant, Jon actually debated drawing his gun and firing. He should kill Richard Torres. He had made an implacable enemy. He knew it, and Jon knew in his gut that Richard might be the most dangerous enemy he’d ever made. There was something going on here that he only understood in an instinctive way.

  What had motivated him to strike the skinny mentalist? It was the galling arrogance of a punk, he supposed. The slap had revealed something more, though, something sinister hiding inside Richard.

  The mentalist turned away, touching his cheek more gingerly.

  Jon’s urge to kill Richard passed. What was wrong with him? Why was he overreacting against the mentalist? Should he apologize?

  No, Jon knew that would be the wrong tact to take with the man. He had struck him for insubordination. He had to let Richard know that if he crossed lines with the captain, he would pay consequences.

  Jon returned to his chair, sitting, pulling it closer to the table. “I consider the issue closed,” he told Richard.

  The mentalist had hunched his shoulders as he continued to touch his reddened cheek.

  “You were saying about Cog Primus,” Jon prodded.

  Richard lowered his hand and faced him, although the mentalist wouldn’t look up and meet his eyes. “You…you shouldn’t have done that,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “You have reopened the matter,” Jon said with a sternness he no longer felt. “I am the captain. I am the final authority as you correctly pointed out. As the leader of the expedition, I represent it. If you act disrespectfully toward me, you are acting disrespectfully to all of us. Then, you are no longer acting in a disciplined manner. The strike force cannot afford ill-discipline out here in the stars. Am I making myself clear?”

  “You made it personal,” Richard repeated.

  Jon wasn’t sure of the correct course of action. What would Colonel Graham have done in a situation like this? He would have summoned the Centurion to take care of the matter. What was the old adage? One shouldn’t strike a dog with one’s hand, but use a rolled up paper to do it. One didn’t want his dog to fear the owner’s hand. Still, Richard’s reaction showed that something was seriously wrong with the individual.

  “It’s time for you think carefully, Mentalist,” Jon said.

  “Me?” Richard said, outraged. “I have the answers. You have nothing but your gang pride. You think like a New London dome rat.”

  Jon stared straight at Richard as he said, “Bast, Gloria, could you please leave the room for a moment?”

  “Jon,” Gloria said.

  “Now,” Jon said in a quiet voice.

  Bast’s chair slid back. It seemed the Sacerdote wished to say something. Instead, he turned and headed for the exit.

  Gloria seemed torn, but she too rose and headed out the door.

  “You have seriously miscalculated,” Richard hissed, his eyes shining. “You have dared to strike me. I have—”

  Abruptly, the shine left the mentalist’s eyes. He’d seemed feverish, with a strange glow to his gaunt cheeks. That passed as some of the tautness left his shoulders.

  A sheepish grin slid onto the mentalist’s face. “I…overreacted, Captain.”

  Jon said nothing. What was going on here?

  “You surprised me,” Richard added. “In my youth, in the training, I had a teacher who severely beat me, abused me is the word. I reacted strongly to your strike, as it brought back old memories.”

  “We will put it behind us,” Jon said, “provided you take the lesson to heart.”

  The hidden gleam seemed to appear in Richard’s eyes. That passed as Richard nodded.

  “My mouth has always gotten me in trouble,” the mentalist said. “I suppose…I’ll remember to curb it around you.”

  “Good,” Jon said.

  Richard waited. “What about you, sir?”

  Jon said nothing.

  “About striking me?” Richard asked.

  “I should have called the Centurion and had him administer the punishment. I should have had him do it in private. However, you publicly disrespected me.”

  “You’re not going to take it back?” Richard asked.

  “No,” Jon said.

  “I…I can’t respect a man who does that to me.”

  “I’m not asking for your respect, Mentalist. I do demand discipline, though.”

  “Don’t you understand that without me, humanity loses? I know what Cog Primus is going to do next.”

  “You are a gifted individual—”

  “No, no, it has nothing to do with that, although what you say is true. I still have the Cog Primus personality. I sent a copy of the original. I’ve been writing a program. Soon, I will put our Cog Primus into a simulat
ion, as close as possible to the one the other is presently in. I will know Cog Primus’ thought process. That means I can lead you straight to him.”

  “With one hundred percent accuracy?” Jon asked, intrigued by the idea.

  Richard shrugged. “With a greater accuracy than anyone else can give you.”

  Jon mulled that over, nodding. “Where is Cog Primus headed?”

  Richard touched his cheek as he stared at Jon.

  The captain restrained a wry grin. The man was bargaining. He wanted a sorry for what had happened. The thing was Jon didn’t trust the mentalist. Maybe it was time to ditch Richard Torres.

  “Work with me or not,” Jon said. “The choice is yours.”

  “You’re making this harder than it has to be,” Richard said.

  Jon said nothing to that.

  Richard finally looked away. He nodded. “I’ll help in spite of what you did. I love Mars too much to let it go to hell because you’re too stubborn—”

  “Have a care what you say to me next,” Jon warned, interrupting. “You have not asked my leave to speak frankly. Nor will I give it at this moment.”

  Richard breathed deeply, seeming to struggle inside himself. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll help, and I’ll do it your way.”

  “Excellent,” Jon said. “I’ll call the others, and we can continue the meeting.”

  As the captain rose and walked past Richard, he failed to see the venomous glare the other gave him. If Richard’s eyes had been lasers, he would have burned the captain to the floor. Clearly, the mentalist would remember this, and just as clearly, he—or whatever was driving him—would do something about it.

  -21-

  Time passed in a haze for Premier Benz aboard the Gilgamesh. He hadn’t been back to the bridge since Vela’s death. He’d hardly been out of his quarters. He read most of the time or slept. He slept too much, he knew. It was a sign of deep depression. He couldn’t help it. He missed Vela. He found it hard to focus, which made for the mental haze.

  The worst part was that he didn’t care anymore. Let the AIs win. What did it matter? Vela was gone. Humanity was going to lose to the machines. The AIs didn’t feel. They didn’t bleed. They just kept on coming. Flesh and blood couldn’t win against that. Vela was proof.