The AI War (6 page)

"What do you know about mindslavers?"

"Built and abolished by the Empire. Run by brains ripped from living bodies. Twenty miles of magical death, capable of engaging and destroying a modern sector fleet. Weapons, navigation and computation systems far in advance of anything we have now."

"And all made possible by those living human brains," said K'Tran. "Brains preserved in variable stasis and bathed by a constant nutrient flow."

"And the R'Actolians?"

"You won't read it in Archives, but the R'Actolians built the first mindslavers. And a woman, Number One, made the R'Actolians."

"S'Helia R'Actol," said
Implacable'
's computer, "was the sector governor of Quadrant Blue Nine under the Emperor H'Tan. She was also one of the finest of the High Imperial geneticists. A woman with Imperial ambition, R'Actol took advantage of her position and the relative isolation of her post to conduct illegal genetic experiments on a grand scale. She wanted a superior, self-propagating warrior race, obedient to her. She was able to achieve all but the last goal. Never more than a thousand, the R'Actolian biofabs quickly dispatched R'Actol and her forces, then went on to invent the symbiotechnic dreadnought—''

"Mindslaver," said K'Raoda.

"Mindslaver," agreed the computer. "A fleet of mindslavers that almost toppled the Empire, striking without warning from Blue Nine. Only when the Empire built their own mindslavers in overwhelming numbers were the R'Actolians believed exterminated."

"And this quadrant, Blue Nine?" asked D'Trelna.

"Abandoned," said the computer. "Some one hundred and forty-three inhabited planets had been stripped of their people by the R'Actolians, the people then stripped of their brains for use in the mindslavers.

"By the time the last R'Actolians sought the braincased immortality of their last mindslaver, the struggle had all but bankrupted the Empire. The R'Actolian War marked the end of the High Imperial epoch and the beginning of the Late, with its decay and decadence."

"We are waiting," whispered the mindslaver.

"What is manning that ship, R'Gal?" demanded D'Trelna, turning from the screen to the colonel.

"The disembodied brains of psychotic geniuses sixty centuries dead," said the colonel.

"And we have to send someone over there," said L'Wrona.

"I'd go, but I've a S'Cotar to catch," said R'Gal.

"Go catch it then," said D'Trelna. R'Gal headed for the door.

"Sometime between this crisis and the next, Colonel, you and I are going to have a long talk," added the commodore. "Clear?"

"Clear," said the colonel with a curt nod. The doors closed behind him.

"I'll go, sir," said K'Raoda.

"Actually, it's my turn, sir," said T'Ral.

Other voices vied with his as the whole bridge crew volunteered.

D'Trelna help up his hands. "Wait. The only fair thing is to draw—"

An alarm beeped. "Weapons fire, hangar deck," said the computer. "Weapons fire, hangar deck."

"Commandos are responding, Captain," said K'Lana after a moment. "I'm unable to contact flight control."

"Keep trying," ordered L'Wrona. "You and you"—he pointed at the two black-uniformed commandos flanking the doors—"with me. J'Quel?"

"Go," waved D'Trelna. "I'll entertain
Alpha Prime."

"Won't . . . budge," grunted John, pulling with all his strength on the recessed door grip. Hangar deck lay just the other side.

The descent down the ladder had seemed interminable. It's got to be less than a mile, John had kept assuring himself.

"Unless you've a better idea
..."
said Zahava, drawing her blaster. "Do it."

She twisted the muzzle as they stepped back, aimed carefully at the center right edge of the door frame and fired. The red bolt lanced through the metal with a satisfying crack and shower of sparks.

"Now try it."

The door groaned open. They eased through, blasters held high and two-handed, eyes searching for movement.

Hangar deck was almost a mile long and half a mile wide. Stars twinkled through the faint shimmer of the atmosphere curtain at its launch end. Silver shuttles, stub-winged fighters and squat, black assault craft nestled in soft-lit berths beneath the distant ceiling. The vaulted silence was as deep as a cathedral's.

Nothing moved the length of the deck. There should have been at least ten crew on duty—maintenance techs, flight control personnel, commandos pulling security detail.

Right control was behind a concave sweep of black glass, set above the deck.

John touched Zahava's shoulder, pointing toward the stairway running to flight control. A body lay crumpled at the bottom.

Approaching cautiously, they saw it was a crewman— young, half his face torn away, his weapon holstered.

John jerked his head toward the top of the stairs. "Alert the bridge," he whispered. "I'll check around."

Nodding, she bounded silently up the stairs, disappearing into flight control.

John turned at a ripple of movement in one of the berths. A distant, brown-uniformed figure was slipping into a shuttle. Caution aside, he ran for the shuttle, boots ringing on the gray battlesteel.

It was a good hundred yards. He was halfway there when the n-gravs whined on. The ship lifted, passenger hatch slowly cycling shut.

Lungs bursting, he dived through the closing hatchway, sliding into the passenger section as the craft slid from its berth.

Bodies were sprawled throughout the small flight control area—three dead by blaster fire, two with their larynxes crushed, eyes bulging, tongues black and protruding.

Zahava was oblivious to the corpses. She stood watching helplessly as the shuttle silently traversed the length of the deck, pierced the atmosphere curtain and was gone.

After a long moment she called the bridge.

* * * *

"There's a shuttle headed for the slaver," said T'Ral.

D'Trelna's head jerked up, looking at the screen. The silver craft was a quarter of the way out, heading for the darkened mass of
Alpha Prime.

"Tal is on hangar deck," reported K'Lana. "The deck crew is dead. Commander T'Lan appears to have slaughtered them and stolen a shuttle. Harrison infiltrated the shuttle. His condition's unknown."

"Slaughtered?" said D'Trelna.

"That's what she said."

"Advise Captain L'Wrona. And respond a medical team to hangar deck."

"Do you want gunnery to . . ." began K'Raoda.

"No," said D'Trelna, shaking his head slowly. "I don't want to excite the mindslaver. But I'll bet you a month's pay, Mr. K'Raoda, that that hideous relic isn't through with us." He stared at the mindslaver and the shuttle for a moment, then touched the commlink. "N'Trol. D'Trelna. What's shield status?"

The engineer's worried face filled the pickup. "No status," he said. "No shield. Five major components are fused lumps. Some of the grid links are ash—never seen anything like it. And the hullside relay clusters
..."

"How long?"

N'Trol shrugged. "Two, three days."

"You have the balance of this watch, Engineer." He silenced the other's protest with upraised forefinger. "Maybe. Once whatever is about to happen on
Alpha Prime
happens, N'Trol, that monster's coming for us. Believe it. Work on that shield as if all our lives depended on it. They do."

D'Trelna switched to the complink. "Computer. I want everything you have on tactical operations against mindslavers by non-symbiotechnic vessels—priority one to be L'Aal-class cruisers, if any. Run it to hard copy, print to bridge flag station."

Waiting, the commodore sat brooding, eyes on the shuttie. Even at highest magnification, it was almost lost against the mindslaver.

R'Gal's face appeared on the commlink. "The news about Harrison and T'Lan is all over your tactical network. What are you doing about it?"

D'Trelna glared at the screen. "Nothing, Colonel. There couldn't be a better person on that shuttle if we'd run through the whole Fleet order of battle—except maybe Zahava Tal. Both were covert operations specialists on Terra. One or both of them always fought beside us, almost from the moment we entered the Terran system."

"Then your pet Terrans could be S'Cotar, D'Trelna."

"R'Gal, I haven't time for your paranoia. Vanish."

The printer stopped as the commlink beeped off. An ensign brought D'Trelna the printout—it wasn't long, but he lingered over it, reading it three times. Finishing, he saw the shuttle was gone.

"She's inside the slaver, Commodore," reported K'Raoda.

Nodding, D'Trelna touched the commlink. "H'Nar, have you secured hangar deck?"

"Not much to secure." The captain stepped back, letting the wall pickup scan the deck. Blue-uniformed medtechs were wheeling away eight green-shrouded carts. "Just us, Zahava and the dead down here, J'Quel. Whatever T'Lan is, he's a very efficient killer."

"Smart money says he's not human, H'Nar. Our Alien Artifacts Officer is an alien."

"Agreed. What now?"

"Meet me at the lift, outside Armory One. Alone. We're going to see a special friend." The captain's eyes widened. "Your little souvenir?" D'Trelna nodded solemnly.

"You get that thing started, J'Quel, there's no telling
..."

"There's no other way, H'Nar."

"Very well," nodded the captain. "I'm on my way."

The shuttle had an aft storage compartment, accessed from either the passenger section or from outside, through a hatch. John hid there in the dark, pressed against the bulkhead, waiting for whatever had just exterminated ten crew to leave the pilot's cabin. He was going to wait until T'Lan had passed by, then empty the M11A's chargepak into that perfect body, holding the trigger back until the reload chimed. Forget John Wayne, the Army had taught him a million years ago—kill the enemy with the least possible risk to yourself. Although, he recalled with a faint smile, that wasn't quite the way Drill Sergeant Eddy had phrased it.

The pitch of the engines changed, climbing an octave. Must be almost to the slaver by now, thought John.

From below came the faint whine of landing struts deploying, then silence as the shuttle landed and the n-gravs died. The Terran drew his blaster and waited, a hand on the door switch.

Hurried footsteps followed the distant hiss of a door opening. The footsteps stopped in front of the storage area.

John clicked off the safety and leveled his weapon at whatever was beyond the thin slab of steel.

There was a faint click, then the whir of the passenger airlock cycling open. John counted to three, pressed the door switch and stepped squinting into the harsh light, his finger curled around the trigger.

The shuttle and the ramp were empty.

He had a glimpse of the darkness beyond the circle of light thrown by the shuttle, then T'Lan's voice spoke softly from behind. "Put it down, Harrison."

"Not following the antics on the bridge?"

Zahava looked up from her untouched food. A short, wiry-framed officer stood beside her table, wearing brown combat dress with unfamiliar insignia.

"Do I know you?" she said, pushing her tray away. With the ship on full alert, the officers' mess was deserted.

"Colonel R'Gal, Fleet Counterintelligence Command. May I?"

The Israeli shrugged.

R'Gal took a chair opposite her. "Sorry about Harrison."' She looked up, startled. "What do you mean? There's news?"

R'Gal shook his head. "No. I meant about his being . . . off-ship."

"He'll be back," she said quietly, lifting her fata cup. "Word is you're a S'Cotar hunter."

"One in need of some help," he said, smiling ruefully. The smile vanished. "You want to sit and wait, I'd understand."

"If you're looking for Guan-Sharick, we've seen him," she said, and told R'Gal of the meeting in the observation dome.

"Odd," said R'Gal, frowning as she finished. "That's the second time the bug's warned us. The first time was about the S'Cotar fallback point on Terra Two."

"I wasn't in on that," said Zahava. "How'd you know Guan-Sharick was on board?" she added.

The colonel made a V with each hand. "Two and two," he said, crossing the Vs. "According to ship's roster, a dead man came back from the Lake of Dreams battle—one Corporal S'Gat. He was killed in an assault and cremated with the rest of the dead, there on your moon. And yet"—he held up a finger—"this same corporal was later seen on
Vigilant,
disembarking with the rest of the commandos. Seen there, but never again.

"Then, during the Terra Two affair, Guan-Sharick was flitting about. Checking the times of his appearances against
Implacable'&
positions, we found that this ship"—-he waved a hand—"was always within easy transport range for a S 'Cotar transmute.''

"Circumstantial," she shrugged.

"He only showed up when her shield was down," said R'Gal, unruffled. "Over a ninety percent correlation."

"I see," said Zahava. "Kind of compelling."

"So we thought."

"Now what?" she asked, sipping her fata. "We find him."

"You're crazy, Colonel," she said pleasantly. "'Fifty miles of corridors, hundreds of compartments, passageways . . . Plus Guan-Sharick's got a device that fools your S'Cotar detectors."

"I'm a Watcher," said R'Gal.

"Oh?" she said warily. "And what do you watch?"

The K'Ronarin laughed. "It's a stupid title," he said. "Some of us have this gift." He tapped his head. "We can detect a transmute."

"Like that?" she said.

"Usually. That damned device Guan-Sharick's wearing though . . ." He shook his head. "I can tell where he's been, but not where he is. It's maddening."

"But it leaves a trail?"

R'Gal nodded. "Nothing consistent, though. However
..."

"Yes?"

"There're some very strong traces in the lifepod section. And I was thinking perhaps
..."

Zahava grinned. "You were thinking, Colonel, that with everyone at battle stations but us, now would be a fine time to check out the lifepods."

The K'Ronarin grinned back. "If you want to."