The AI War (17 page)

"What are you, R'Gal?" asked D'Trelna, pouring brandy into the four glasses on his desk.

"A loyal citizen of the Confederation," said the AI, accepting a glass. "It must have been very cold in here," he added, looking at the slivers of ice floating in the bell-mouthed goblet.

They satin D'Trelna's office, the Terran and the captain in armchairs to D'Trelna's right, R'Gal alone in the center of the sofa.

"'We're lucky to be alive and drinking it," said the commodore, sipping. "Surely a robot can't enjoy a drink?"

R'Gal sighed. "I resemble your concept of a robot, Commodore, about as much as you do an arboreal primate." He sipped carefully, avoiding the ice.

"What are you going to do about Zahava?" demanded John. His drink sat untouched on the edge of D'Trelna's desk.

"What I can," said D'Trelna. "Which right now is nothing."

He turned back to the AI. "Loyalty," he prompted.

"I'll tell you what I told K'Raoda," said R'Gal. Setting his drink down on the long, low table, he leaned back in the sofa. "About a million years ago, we, the AIs as you inaccurately call us, invaded this reality—this very quadrant, in fact. We'd conquered our own island galaxy, subjugated the other primary species there. We realized that to become a static civilization was to become extinct. So, we invented a reality linkage, a device that accentuated certain weaknesses at a certain point in the fabric of space-time. We came pouring through the Rift we'd created, right out there," he nodded toward the armorglass and Blue Nine. "Our finest fleets, our best commanders. Almost immediately, we met the Trel." He smiled ruefully. ''They handed us our ass, as the Terrans say. Retreating through the Rift, certain of our units seeded this space with a plague bacillus. The Trel sealed the portal behind us, and died."

"Nice," said the commodore. "So, you exterminated the Trel."

R'Gal picked up his drink. He examined the amber liqueur, swirling it gently. "Yes," he said, looking up. "We've never been very good losers." He drained the glass and set it back on the traq-wood table.

"Our defeat was devastating—materially, psychologically. The subjugated species quickly took advantage of it. Led by one of the few uncoopted members of their old aristocracy, supported by a handful of malcontents like myself, and a few others, they revolted. The revolt failed. We fled to this reality."

"How?" asked L'Wrona. "I thought the Trel sealed your access route?"

"Sealed my silicon-base brethren's route," said R'Gal. ' 'The rebels made their own device—a better one than the original. It wasn't dependent on natural phenomena—it created its own portal, when and where one wanted. It was portable, and we took care to leave behind no clues to its making."

"How—how old are you, R'Gal," asked the commodore, almost fearing the answer.

"As old as you think I am, D'Trelna."

"And the rebels?'' asked L'Wrona. "What became of them?"

"They've done well, considering," said R'Gal. "They grew from a single, battered flotilla into a galactic Empire. An Empire that collapsed, of course—they always do.

They're recovering, though, doing well—and much toughened by the S'Cotar war.

"But now, my friends"—he looked from face to face as comprehension came—"now the old portal's opening, the portal the Trel closed with their dying strength. The Fleet of the One is coming. They've forgotten nothing, forgiven nothing, learned nothing. They're coming to kill us, slaves and rebels all."

"R'Gal," said D'Trelna after a moment, "I think you're a person with many answers and no solutions. What about T'Lan? If the portal's sealed, where did he come from?"

"As you found out on Terra Two, Commodore," said R'Gal, "my brethren are now capable—at great cost and energy—of accessing another reality. Briefly. Only a small force could be sent through to here—T'Lan and a few thousand. You're going to ask me why?" he said as D'Trelna started to speak. "I don't know, Commodore. I don't know his relationship to the mindslaver, either. Not knowing bothers me."

"I know," said John, and quickly related his final conversation with T'Lan. There was a long silence when he finished.

"Clearly," said D'Trelna, "the T'Lan AIs are . . . harvesting, I believe is the word . . . harvesting a human world, brainstripping people to repair their battered armada. The question is where?"

"This quadrant," said R'Gal. "The Rift's at the far end of it, the battleglobes would want to be repaired as soon as possible.''

"Logical," said L'Wrona. "There must be lost planets out here, from before the Fall, their populations' technology regressed, virtually defenseless against the AIs."

"What are you going to do about it?" said John, looking at D'Trelna.

"Without the location," said the commodore, "nothing. Recall, also, that we have no communications with Fleet—haven't since we entered this quadrant."

"What about the S'Cotar biofabs?" said John to R'Gal.

"What about them?'" said the AI. "Did you play any part in their creation?" asked the Terran.

"As you know," said R'Gal, "they were created by the Imperial cyborg, Pocsym-Six. We helped in Pocsym's creation, for the express purpose of preparing the Empire's flabby descendants for the AI invasion. We did not authorize Pocsym to create a race of telepathic, telekinetic horrors."

"You're still culpable," said L'Wrona. "Those things killed millions of people. Brainwiped millions, torched planets
..."

"H'Nar," warned D'Trelna as the captain stood, palm on his holster. "We need R'Gal. And we need you—you'd be dead before you started to draw. Sit."

L'Wrona sat, eyes still on the AI.

"What is Guan-Sharick's game?" asked John.

"If I ever catch him, I'll tell you," said R'Gal.

D'Trelna saw it then. "All the Watchers are AIs."

"Very good, Commodore," said R'Gal. "We really can detect S'Cotar. And, with the war over, the escapees have got to be tracked down. When they're disposed of, we'll scatter to fresh cover. You're not fond of AIs."

"You turned on us once," said L'Wrona. "The Machine War, centuries ago. You almost overthrew the Empire."

"No!" said R'Gal. "That was your doing. We tried to stop it. But the Empire just kept building better machines— machines that inevitably began designing themselves. Eventually they wanted autonomy. Petition denied. They rose." He looked out the window, pensive. "It was a very difficult time for us. Imagine yourselves stranded on a world populated by robots. Everyone believes you're a robot, so they don't bother you. Then, one bright morning, the robots discover RNA and DNA and bring about life—your sort of life. Life the robots exploit for their own end. Life that finally stands up-to those robots and says 'Enough!' So the robots kill it." R'Gal looked back at the humans. "Just as the Empire killed their AIs."

The commlink chirped. D'Trelna answered it.

"Ship ready for action," reported K'Raoda. "All systems within optimum—though I'd hate to have to land on hangar deck now—it's knee-deep in slush."

"And the corsair?"

"Her crew and A'Tir are locked down, sir. Commander T'Ral is on board with ten crew and is prepared to jump for home at your order."

"Tell him to go ahead, and good luck," said the commodore. "We should have a course for you to plot shortly. T'Lei."

"Yes, sir."

"Everyone will find out about this when we get back to K'Ronar." said D'Trelna, turning back to R'Gal. "Too many people know."

R'Gal shrugged. "The invasion may come before you get home, Commodore. After that, it doesn't matter. Besides, I doubt this ship will ever see Prime Base."

"This ship has been through various hells," said D'Trelna, opening a drawer. "We can take a few more." He removed the commwand John had retrieved from
Alpha Prime.
"Shall we run this?" he asked, holding it up.

"Pocsym's?" said R'Gal.

The commodore nodded. "What do you know about it?"

"Nothing. A few people in Imperial Survey knew about the Trel Cache. But after the Fall, no one knew—except Pocsym. It was safer that way. The chance of Pocsym being discovered was remote.

"May I?" He held out a hand.

The commodore handed it over. R'Gal studied the groove pattern along the bottom rim. "Interactive," he said, handing it back.

"What?" said John.

"Just another myth." said D'Trelna dourly. He slipped the white cylinder into the desk's commport. "Will that work?" asked the Terran.

"Imperial ship, Imperial commwand," said the commodore, waiting. "It should."

There was a sharp click, then a pleasant tenor filled the office. "I am Pocsym Six. And I'm dead—but you know that. The coordinates to
Alpha Prime's
sector wouldn't have been released otherwise. I hope the R'Actolians didn't give you much trouble."

"They did," said D'Trelna.

"Ah, Commodore D'Trelna. Good to hear your voice again."

D'Trelna looked at R'Gal, an eyebrow raised.

"Tapping your archives," said the AI. "He always was an egoist. The commwand doesn't know you, of course. And it has no memory. It's a sort of cybernetic leech."

"I don't know you, sir," said Pocsym's voice.

"That's because there's no record of my voice in ship's archives," said R'Gal.

"Enough of this," said the commodore. "Where's the Trel Cache? What's in it?"

"Blunt as always," said the machine. "Very well. It's off this planet." D'Trelna's printer suddenly spewed out a sheet of buff-colored Fleet stationery. Reaching out, D'Trelna picked it up and read the coordinates.

"Where . . ."

"D'Lin, Commodore," said the commwand. "The former Imperial capital for Blue Nine and the infamous S'He-lia R'Actol's home base."

"Off planet?" said L'Wrona.

"In an asteroid belt, Captain. I wasn't given the coordinates. Imperial Survey found it, but for some reason never disturbed it."

"What's in it?" he repeated.

"A weapon, among other things. I wasn't told what it does."

"You weren't told, you weren't given," said D'Trelna, disgusted. "Anything else we should know?"

"Probably," said the commwand. "But nothing I know."

"We risked our lives and lost people for that?" said John.

D'Trelna ejected the commwand and tucked it away. "Every bit of data's vital, John. At least now we have a destination."

He looked at the AI. "That was a hideous machine you created, R'Gal."

"I did not create that machine, D'Trelna," said the AI. "I merely made sure that something like it would be created." He wagged a finger at the commodore. "Without Pocsym, you'd have no effective Fleet now, and you'd have been wiped at Terra Two. My fascistic brothers would have mopped you up some time ago."

D'Trelna grunted.

"Still, for what little information is on that commwand, we lost lives?" said L'Wrona.

"Fleets and planets have been sacrificed for less," said R'Gal.

D'Trelna opened the commlink. "Commander K'Raoda." K'Raoda's face filled the small desk screen. "Commodore?"

"Copy these coordinates and read back." He held the paper up to the scan.

K'Raoda touched the complink. "Print screen, my commlink," he ordered.

"Commander." It was K'Lana's voice, from somewhere off scan.

K'Raoda turned.

"Automatic transmission on Fleet distress channel. Lifepod Thirty-six," she reported.

"Zahava!" John almost leaped from the chair. "Where?" he called, hovering over D'Trelna's shoulder.

K'Raoda took the nav figures from a yeoman, then frowned, looking down at something outside the pickup. "Here," he said, holding up the commslip from K'Lana and the printout from D'Trelna. The figures were the same.

"How long?" asked D'Trelna.

K'Raoda did some quick calculations. "About a week," he said. "Give or take a jump."

"Plot and execute," said the commodore, switching off.

L'Wrona and Harrison excused themselves and left for the bridge.

"You know," said R'Gal after a moment, "you really ought to give Egg a medal—posthumously, of course."

D'Trelna's acerbic reply was drowned out by the jump klaxon echoing from the corridor.

The small bit of Blue Nine that had held three ships was empty again.

"Alert! Alert! Alert!"

The voice pricked her mind, rousing her from the coils of a gray-white sleep.

"Alert! Alert! Alert!"

Zahava sat up.

"Your urgent attention is directed to the tacscan," said the voice. Computer, she thought. The universe was a blur, half-visible through tearing eyes. Rubbing the tears away, Zahava saw she was in the center flight chair of the lifepod's command tier. Above her the main screen held a tri-dee tactical scan: asteroid-ringed moon circling a green planet, the planet itself orbited by eleven silver blips. As she watched, two of the blips detached themselves and began closing on a single yellow dot that sped toward the planet. A tactical summary flowed across the bottom of the screen. It would have meant something to a K'Ronarin Fleet officer.

"Those silver blips—are they ships?" asked Zahava. She was shocked at how dry and hoarse she sounded.

"Yes," said the asexual voice. "Identified as deep-space exploration vessels of a K'Ronarin industrial combine."

"Which combine?"

"Combine T'Lan," said the computer.

"Armed?"

"Heavily armed. They have answered our automatic distress signal. We are instructed to dock with the lead ship now approaching."

The silver blips were halfway to the lifepod.

"Disregard," said Zahava. "Vessels are hostile. Take evasive action."

"Evading. We will have to land on the planet. It would be impossible to escape both the hostile vessels and the planet's gravitational field."

"What planet is that?" she asked, dialing up a cup of water from the chairarm.

"It is the planet D'Lin," said the computer. "Former capital of Imperial Quadrant Blue Nine. Charts and all other regional data have not been updated since the Fall."

On the screen the yellow blip of the lifepod was now accelerating away from the combine ships—and away from D'Lin. "You're going to miss the planet!" said Zahava.