Stephen Berry - The AI War

"Sorry," said the captain as they walked. "But if FleetOps finds you've been hiding a stolen slaver computer on board…"

"A rediscovered slaver computer," said the commodore.

"The distinction won't impress a tribunal. You took the thing off TNil's Revenge, on Terra's moon," said L'Wrona softly. "Fine. But then you hid it here"-he nodded toward the door-"and told no one. That's illegal. Now you plan to activate it, and that's criminal. FleetOps is going to do some profound reprogramming of your gray matter."

"We're hanging by our fingernails on the edge of forever," said D'Trelna. "FleetOps is not."

Ten rifles snapped to the salute as the two passed by, D'Trelna sketching a salute. "Where's Lieutenant S'Til?" he asked the NCO blocking the door.

"Dispensary, sir," said the sergeant.

D'Trelna frowned. "Odd. She's never sick."

"You going to let us in, Sergeant?" said L'Wrona.

"That's up to the computer, sir." The woman pointed to the security terminal set in the wall.

"J'Quel?" said the captain, deferring to his senior.

"Of course," said D'Trelna. He thumbed the red tab. "D'Trelna, J'Quel, Commodore."

"And L'Wrona, H'Nar, Captain," said the margrave over D'Trelna's shoulder.

The sergeant stepped aside as the door opened.

Stepping through the doorway, commodore and captain entered a wide, high-ceilinged room. Walking quickly, they passed rows of racked blasters, light artillery pieces, stacked crates of ordnance, then through a second, double-guarded door and a final security check.

"All right, J'Quel," said L'Wrona as the door slid shut behind them. "Show me."

It was a tiny room, almost a closet, its walls the same uniform gray as elsewhere-except for the wall to their left, which was white with small hexagonal niches. Sealed behind armorglass in each of the ten lighted niches gleamed a conical silver warhead. Large red lettering blazed above the warheads-lettering repeated in deathless blue flame etched into each piece of armorglass:

"Impressive, isn't it?" said D'Trelna. Before L'Wrona could move, he'd covered the distance to the first niche and slid the glass aside.

"J'Quel…!" said the captain, aghast as D'Trelna removed the warhead and began casually to unscrew it.

"When Fleet found Implacable and pulled her out of stasis," said the commodore, "she had only nine of those warheads. The first little baby here was gone from its creche. I appropriated the space."

L'Wrona had recovered, moving to D'Trelna's side. "So you created a dummy warhead as a hiding place." He laughed-shakily.

"I've often wondered," said D'Trelna, handing the captain the top of the hollow cone, "what poor rebel planet the Empire snuffed with it."

"We might also speculate on the nature of a culture that uses 'death-warning' as a compound noun," said L'Wrona, glancing at the red letters, "and went through eighteen generations of planet snuffers.. .. That's it?" he asked as D'Trelna held up a small golden egg.

"That's it," nodded the commodore. He handed the other half of the fake warhead to L'Wrona. "Would you replace this?" he asked.

By the time the captain had reassembled the casing and restored it to its niche, D'Trelna was standing beside the egg, blaster in hand.

"What now?" said L'Wrona.

"Now," said D'Trelna, twisting the MHA's muzzle to lowest power, "little egg grows up." He aimed two-handed at the spheroid.

L'Wrona held up a hand. "Wait, J'Quel. We'd better record this. Just in case."

"In case of what?" asked the commodore, lowering his weapon. "It eats us?"

"As I recall," said the captain, walking to the wall complink, "this unit's predecessor wanted your brain for use in some psychotic fantasy." He punched the On tab as D'Trelna grunted.

"Computer. Captain."

"Yes, Captain?" came the asexual contralto.

"Full scan of special vault, Armory One, commencing now. Record to auxiliary log only, and restrict access to Commodore D'Trelna and/or

"Illegal command," said the computer. "Fleet regulations require all log entries be part of ship's primary records, with exception in certain special situations. These situations are…"

D'Trelna glared at the complink as the machine prattled on. "I hate a self-righteous computer." He raised his blaster.

"J'Quel, let me take care of it," said L'Wrona, lowering the commodore's arm, a hand to one thick wrist.

"Computer," he continued, "implement command as given, per Directive Green Seven Nine, authenticator Silver Prime."

"Implemented, my lord." The machine now spoke with a brisk, efficient baritone.

D'Trelna stared wide-eyed at the complink, then turned to L'Wrona. "Generic override?" he guessed.

"Imperial," nodded L'Wrona. "Seventh Dynasty-about the time they built this old hulk." The two turned back to the little egg.

"Something the margravate keeps to itself?" asked D'Trelna.

"And uses sparingly," smiled L'Wrona. The smile vanished. "Don't use it, J'Quel! It wreaks havoc with the programming overlay-taps those six thousand year old Imperial systems."

"No, no. Never," swore D'Trelna. Sighting again on the egg, he pulled the trigger, bathing the spheroid in a soft, red light.

Nothing happened for a moment. Then, as the blaster continued its shrilling, the egg started to glow-a golden shimmering that grew brighter as the spheroid began to swell. The two men stepped back as the slaver computer grew to fill the space in front of the warheads.

The golden shimmering dimmed, then vanished. The commodore ceased firing and holstered his weapon. The egg lay across the deck, inert.

"Well, that should have done it," said D'Trelna, frowning. "According to ship's archives, you just feed it a steady, low grade dose of energy." He shook his head. "We better get back to the bridge."

"And do what?" asked L'Wrona. "Lead the crew in prayer? No." He nodded toward the slaver machine. "There's got to be a simple activation command, common to the era." He stood staring at the golden orb, fingers softly drumming his holster.

"I'm going," said D'Trelna after a moment, stepping toward the door.

"Wait," said L'Wrona, eyes never leaving the egg. "I'm thinking."

"Think faster," said the commodore, halting reluctantly. "Or we're all going to be processed by that spaceborne abattoir out there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"T'Nil was one of the most expansionist emperors- ever," said L'Wrona. "And this"-he pointed at the egg-"a vital component of his premier war machine. If it came out of the Fleet Fabrication Center on D'Kor, there'd be a generic activation command."

"H'Nar, please, try something."

The captain walked over to where the machine lay. "Computer," he said, looking down at it, "Destiny and Empire."

Silently, the egg righted itself and rose, hovering just above the deck. "Destiny and Empire," it said in a perfect tenor. "How may I serve?"

D'Trelna slapped L'Wrona on the back. "Well done, H'Nar!"

"T'Nil's battle cry, J'Quel," said the captain. "And the motto of all successive emperors."

"It should have been blood and empire," said the commodore, watching the computer. "Identify," he said to the machine.

"Symbiotechnic Control Unit Seven-Four-Three-Eight, replicant," said the machine. "Assigned symbiotechnic dreadnought T'Nil's Revenge."

"Computer," said D'Trelna, "we need-"

"I am addressed as either Seven-Four-Three-Eight-R, or Egg," said the machine.

D'Trelna closed his eyes as if in pain, then opened them. "Egg," he said carefully, "we are in need of tactical data. How would a L'Aal-class cruiser defeat a mindsla-symbiotechnic dreadnought?''