Scattered Suns (41 page)

Chapter 85—GENERAL KURT LANYAN

General Lanyan took one look at Stromo’s face, drew immediate conclusions, and sighed. “We have a problem, sir,” the Admiral said. “The evidence at Corribus is damning. My technicians insist that the destruction really was caused by EDF weaponry. We found landing marks and other indications consistent with one Juggernaut and several Mantas.”

Lanyan stood, though he felt unsteady on his feet. “But where did they come from? I’ve demanded an inventory from all my grid admirals, and everything is accounted for. We haven’t
misplaced
six major battleships!”

“Not...entirely, sir.” Stromo offered his idea about the group of ships that had disappeared at Golgen. “And those were all crewed by Soldier compies, exactly as the Covitz girl described. They might have killed their human commanders and turned against us.”

“Admiral, do you have any idea how
many
Soldier compies we have aboard our EDF ships in all ten grids?”

Stromo was very pale. “Yes, General. Yes, I do.”

He remembered King Peter’s seemingly paranoid complaints about using Klikiss technology in the new Soldier compies, but the Hansa and the EDF had dismissed the young man’s worries. “Damn, what if the King was right?”

“General, what about the sixty rammers we just dispatched to Qronha 3?
Those
ships are full of Soldier compies and only a few token human commanders. If compies really pose a threat, shouldn’t we recall the rammers?”

Lanyan wanted to scream. “And stop our only effective blow against the drogues? I think not! Besides, we don’t have any way to contact them in time.”

They were interrupted when Lanyan’s aide signaled insistently at the door. The young man would not have dared to disturb them unless it was terribly important. “I’m sorry, General, but you really need to see this. It’s a message from Lars Rurik Swendsen.”

“The engineering specialist?” After the mysterious disappearance of Chief Scientist Howard Palawu, the Swedish engineer had been put in charge of all compy manufacturing on Earth. “What the hell does he want?”

The aide piped the transmission onto his deskscreen. Lanyan looked down as the engineering specialist’s nervous face filled the projection area. “General Lanyan, how are you? I know it’s been quite a while since we’ve talked—”

“What do you want, Swendsen? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Well, General, I don’t exactly know what it means, but...it’s our Klikiss robots.”

Lanyan felt an iceberg in his stomach. “What about them?”

“They’re cagey under the best of circumstances, but several were always present to observe our compy production lines. But now, uh...they’ve all disappeared. They said nothing to us—simply left the production lines and vanished without a trace. First I ran a detailed check, interfacing with standard surveillance in populated areas, then I contacted some of my colleagues. As far as we can tell,
all
the robots are gone. Every one.”

Lanyan did not let his deep concern show. “I’ll check into it, Swendsen. Thank you for letting me know.”

While Stromo continued to splutter, Lanyan dispatched messages to every observation point he knew. Over the next few hours, the summary of returning information shocked him to the core. “Swendsen’s not kidding. Every last Klikiss robot we knew about has pulled up stakes and gone away. Chairman Wenceslas is using our green priests to contact every Hansa colony where Klikiss robots have been seen. So far, the news is consistent across the Spiral Arm: They’re all gone.”

Stromo shook his head in disbelief. “Fortunately, there are only—what?—a hundred of them?”

Lanyan kneaded his knuckles and stared at the rock wall of his Moon base office. He had a very bad feeling about what might have been going on all along under his nose. Finally, reluctantly, he decided he had no choice. He issued an all-points warning to every ship in the EDF fleet—though without green priests aboard most of them, it would take a dangerously long time for the warning to be disseminated.

Chapter 86—PATRICK FITZPATRICK III

The thirty-one EDF “adoptees” performed their daily work in the Osquivel shipyards, always alert for a chance to escape. Components for Roamer ships continued to be fabricated and assembled in the spacedocks. One new cargo vessel had already been launched since the news about Rendezvous, and another larger ship was nearing completion.

Instead of studying the hydrogue derelict, the odd Roamer engineer had filled a few cargo ships with strange devices the size and shape of doormats, then he’d gone off to Theroc on some harebrained scheme. Meanwhile, the prisoners filled their labor shifts, working silently beside the cooperative Soldier compies.

Fitzpatrick watched closely. On schedule, the weekly cargo escort was on its way down from the cometary hydrogen-distillation yards and was due to arrive in the ring shipyards within a few hours. Despite his reservations, he knew there would be no better time.

In the three days since concocting his plan, Kiro Yamane had written and compiled a “virus signal” to scramble the programming of the reconfigured EDF compies. Using a few easily stolen components, he had rigged an effective transmitter. A simple burst, and the nearby compies would upload the stream and then act as repeater stations, passing the virus signal from one to another, until they had all absorbed the corrupted command string.

“Timing is going to be touchy—for all of us,” Yamane said in a low voice as they got together. “I can trigger the new programming string, which deletes the requirement for obedience to human commands. It also distorts their damage-control mechanisms, their 'better judgment,' if you will.”

“So,” Fitzpatrick said, “the Soldier compies will turn into sloppy workers who don’t do what they’re told and don’t obey instructions.”

“Sounds like most Roachers, if you ask me,” Andez muttered.

Yamane maintained his dry analysis. “It’s not like a bomb going off. Things will begin falling apart, but we can’t count on a single event to act as the diversion. I just hope the general chaos keeps the Roamers busy so Patrick can do his part.”

Fitzpatrick glanced at the chronometer. “I leave in just a few minutes. I’ve managed to get myself reassigned to the docking bay where the ekti transport is coming in.” He laced his words with a scorn and sarcasm that he didn’t truly feel. “My little 'sweetheart' Zhett is coming to help me load general supplies aboard for shipping out to another depot. Just the two of us, all alone. She probably thinks it’s a date.”

“We’ve all seen her making eyes at you, Fitzpatrick—and you doing the same in return,” Andez said, arching her eyebrows.

He flushed. “It’s all an act, to get in her good graces. She’ll fall for it.”

“Right. You sure she isn’t too much for you to handle?”

With a sniff, he said, “Can’t be any worse than facing a whole hydrogue fleet.” He made excuses and went to the docking area from which he would be shuttled to the reception asteroid where the cargo escort was due to dock.

Just before Fitzpatrick left, Yamane surreptitiously transmitted his program scrambler, and the nearby Soldier compies received their new instructions. Soon, their quiet computerized rebellion would spread.

As soon as the cargo escort arrived with an array of full ekti tanks, the pilot had borrowed Zhett’s grappler pod to go to the main habitation complex for a cleanup and a good meal before his flight to the nearest Roamer fuel depot. Other than two unobtrusive compies, Fitzpatrick and Zhett were completely alone, exactly the way he wanted it...though a part of him remained uneasy.

As they worked shoulder-to-shoulder loading crates onto the cargo escort, Zhett flashed a teasing smile at him. “Keep this up, Fitzie, and I’ll put in your name for Employee of the Month.”

“Can’t you ever just be nice to me?” He blushed furiously, and it wasn’t an act. “I requested this assignment specifically so you and I could have a little time together without my friends snickering at me. Is that so bad?”

She looked surprised and even a little embarrassed. “I was just kidding you.” He kept his reticent silence while Zhett mulled over what he had said. “That doesn’t sound like you at all. Why the change of heart?”

He made himself smile at her. They had never overtly acknowledged their mutual attraction, but neither of them could deny the chemistry. Now, in order for the escape plan to work, he had to get her to admit it, to make her particularly vulnerable for just a few minutes. “We’re all by ourselves here, Zhett, so why keep up the act? I know you’ve got a crush on me.”

“You sure it isn’t the other way around?” Obviously feeling awkward with the conversation, she quickly picked up another crate of supplies and turned toward the cargo escort.

He watched her carry the box up the ramp. “If you like being here with me, why are you in such a damned hurry to get the job done? You’re working harder than the compies are.”

She set the box down at her feet and looked at him with a mixture of feelings plain on her face. Had she fantasized about a situation like this? Fitzpatrick certainly had, though he was loath to admit it. “Oh? Did you have something else in mind?” Her coy voice was seductive and playful, but with an undertone of uncertainty. He suspected Zhett liked to talk a lot, but wasn’t used to following through on her advances.

Fitzpatrick stood in front of her, trying to cut a dashing and handsome figure, and mostly succeeding at feeling clumsy. “We could just let the compies finish up, and you and I...” He shrugged. “I don’t know. This rock isn’t exactly my idea of a good place for a picnic.” He gestured toward the back wall of the asteroid chamber, hating what he was being forced to do in the name of loyalty to the EDF. So many of his comrades were depending on him. “I see a nice storage room back there. It would give us a bit of privacy.”

Zhett laughed, but a bit nervously. “Privacy? Are you afraid the compies will see something they shouldn’t?” She tossed her long dark hair, still flirting but seeming over her head.

He rolled his eyes. He had to keep her off her guard, stay one step ahead, though she was sure to grow suspicious. “Don’t ask me to believe that you Roamers have no cameras or surveillance systems inside your docking bays.”

“Well, we don’t—but I won’t ask you to believe it. Suit yourself.” As if afraid she might lose her nerve, Zhett bounded toward the door of the storage room. “What are you waiting for? Do I intimidate you?”

“Not in the least.”

She increased the illumination inside the chamber and rearranged a few crates so the two of them would have a place to sit and talk...or whatever. As he stood at the door, Zhett looked naive and very beautiful. Considering that the Roamers were always so secretive and paranoid about their hideouts, Fitzpatrick thought it strange that she was so open and gullible. Zhett actually trusted him.

He paused to gather his nerve. “Against my better judgment, you’ve actually become sort of...special to me. Don’t forget that.”

“You’re acting weird, Fitz.”

He despised what he had to do, but he meant what he said...and deep inside he despised himself for meaning it. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. He gave her a fumbling kiss on the cheek, then withdrew quickly. “Just a minute. I want to get something from the supplies. I think I saw a few pastry preserves in a container. It’ll make a good start for a picnic.”

“All right.” She grinned, and he began to turn, but hesitated. Then, surprising even himself, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her toward him. She caught her breath, as if to make a comment—but he kissed her again, full on the mouth. At first the kiss was rushed, startling. He had meant just to distract her, to keep her from thinking too much. She blinked her eyes, looking into his, and then she closed them, enjoying his lips as he relaxed, kissing her again, longer this time. When he broke away, she was completely unable to speak.

Blushing crimson, he swaggered out the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Damn!

When her back was turned to the crates, Fitzpatrick closed the door and scrambled the electronic mechanism to lock the hatch. Not sure it would hold for long—Roamers probably had emergency escape controls inside the storeroom—he picked up a prybar from the equipment pile and swung it in a sharp arc, smashing the panel in a spray of sparks.

Zhett was already pounding on the inside of the door. Her voice was muffled, but he could imagine the sort of harsh language she was using.

Out in the docking bay, the quiet compies finished their work as instructed. They didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. At least they were regular models, not Soldier compies that would soon start suffering from poor job performance, thanks to Yamane’s virus.

Fitzpatrick ran toward the gangly-looking cargo escort. It looked like an anorexic spider, not much more than a pilot chamber and grappling struts to hold a cluster of fuel tanks. But it did have a stardrive, and it would take him far from Osquivel, where he could call for help and rescue his comrades.

He shouted to the still-working compies. “Your task is finished. Your orders are terminated. Go stand against the wall and shut down.” He didn’t want any of them to think about sounding an alarm. Once the obedient robots did as he told them, he had the entire docking bay to himself.

When he climbed aboard the cargo escort, Fitzpatrick threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure the storage chamber door remained closed. It would keep Zhett busy for a while.

He listened in on the Roamer channels and heard a growing buzz of concerned chatter. Apparently, Yamane’s glitches had already begun to take hold among the Soldier compies. Good. Several production lines had been brought to a standstill, and the frustrated Roamer engineers were thrown into confusion by the incomprehensible behavior.

Del Kellum bellowed at his outlying teams. “By damn, the compies are intentionally jamming up the machinery! Get them back on track.”

“We’re trying, Del. But something’s setting them off! The sabotage is just growing worse.”

With so much chaos in the shipyards, Fitzpatrick could slip away before anyone noticed what he was up to. Judging by the stress in Kellum’s voice, the Roamers couldn’t handle another emergency at the moment.

He fired up the engines, and the ungainly cargo escort lifted off. The docking bay doors opened, and he flew out, guiding the clumsy craft away from the other shipyard facilities.

Down in the rings, Soldier compies continued to go haywire. Grappler pods and cargo ships moved in erratic paths, nearly colliding with each other. Only a handful of the vessels were flown by the schizophrenic Soldier compies; the Roamers in the rest were just trying to get out of the way in time.

As he listened to the frantic chatter over the comm bands, somebody signaled him, assuming he was an authorized pilot and asking why he had departed so soon. Fitzpatrick didn’t bother to answer.

He flew out from the beautiful disc rings that encircled Osquivel, glad to get away. He was free. None of the Roamer ships could catch up with him now. Once he engaged the Ildiran stardrive, he would be off in a flash. And it was up to him to bring back the EDF cavalry before all hell finished breaking loose in the Roamer shipyards.