Stephen Berry - The AI War

"Someone who knows Imperial computer theory better than anyone now living has dropped a stasis algorithm into the computer.''

K'Raoda swiveled to face N'Trol, shuttles forgotten for a moment. "Impossible," he said, shaking his head. "That's a myth-a cybernetic wild tale from before the Fall. It must be some sort of system failure-maybe something latent, from when Fleet applied the overlay."

"Shuttles halfway to target and closing," reported T'Ral.

"Acknowledged," said K'Raoda.

"Fine," said N'Trol with exaggerated patience. "There's no such thing as a stasis algorithm. But something is moving through that machine." He jerked a thumb aft, in the general direction of the computer. "Something that's freezing its basic operating systems-suspending them for later reactivation."

"How do you know?"

"Because it's challenging incoming commands to affected sections in machine code I've never seen. Does that sound like a system failure to you, Commander?"

"No," admitted K'Raoda, shaking his head. "How long have we got?''

N'Trol shrugged. "Watchend, maybe. At current rate of deterioration."

"What do we need to stop this… stasis algorithm?" asked K'Raoda.

"The original algorithm," said N'Trol. "Or, faster, one that's antidotal. No one would create such a monster without having something to kill it. That would be stupid. And whoever or whatever did this is not stupid.''

"Two candidates for culprit," said K'Raoda. He glanced at the scan. Alpha Prime, minus two main batteries, was still bathing their shield in fusion fire, ineffectively. The shield indicators were still in the green. "T'Lan and the slaver machine."

"That smooth-talking Egg has my vote." said N'Trol.

"Mine, too," said K'Raoda. "One of its little bag of algorithms is keeping us alive, while the other's destroying our computer-and maybe us."

"You've got to warn the commodore," said N'Trol.

K'Raoda turned to K'Lana. "Anything?"

"Not from the shuttles. Broad-band interference pattern from the slaver. However…"

"Yes?" said K'Raoda hopefully.

"Lifts seven and eighteen are locked in transit. Engineering's dispatched work parties."

"It's starting." said N'Trol. "I better get down there." He turned for the door.

"Use the ladders," K'Raoda called after him.

"In fact, K'Lana," he continued as N'Trol left, "make that an order. All personnel not transporting heavy loads, use central access."

The jowly face of Gunnery Chief B'Tul came onto one of K'Lana's screens. "Bridge. We're getting power feed anomalies to fusion batteries three through eight. Random surges and breaks. Engineering's on it."

"Food processors in mess four are pouring out green slop," said K'Lana as the chief's face disappeared.

"What is green slop?" asked K'Raoda, feeling the bottom fall out of his tight little world. The universe might be a mad, malevolent place, but Implacable had never failed them.

"You want to talk to him?" K'Lana tapped her earpiece.

K'Raoda held up a palm. "No. Give him to the engineering duty officer.''

"I'll put him in queue," she said, turning back to her console.

"And keep trying to punch through to D'Trelna," added K'Raoda.

It was a good-sized room, square, windowless, its walls and floors of a black, marblelike substance. The long table in its center seemed more an outcropping of the floor than a separate construct-a fluted-stemmed outcropping that gleamed dully in the soft light, surrounded by seven alabaster-white armchairs.

John slouched in the one at the head of the table, facing the door. Gingerly he rubbed his throbbing right shoulder. Pain shot down his back and arm. Grimacing, he stopped rubbing. "That was cruel," he said to the S'Cotar.

"What, the way I saved your frail life, Harrison?" Guan-Sharick-as-blonde sat at the far end of the table, smirking. The smirk vanished. "T'Lan was watching you fall to your death. That close to the deck"-the transmute held two fingers barely apart-"and its flawlessly logical brain was just logging you out, Harrison-a faulty assumption that bought us perhaps a nanosecond."

John snorted. "A nanosecond, bug?"

Guan-Sharick leaned forward intently, hands folded. "T'Lan is an AI combat droid-an invincible legend out of prehistory." Those startling blue eyes met John's. "It would take a full stream from a Mark Eighty-eight to slow it, a multinuclear salvo to destroy it. It thinks faster and moves faster than anything of this time, and it is dedicated to the eradication of all free life-you, me, the K'Ronarins, this mindslaver, everything. It can decide, aim and fire in a tenth of a second. Its perfect logic is its only weakness."

"I don't believe you," said John.

"Fine," shrugged the S'Cotar, leaning back in the chair. ' 'I'll send you back to the bridge command tier and drop you again. You make it as far as the first time, and I'll teleport your sweet self back here."

John held up a hand. "No… You want to tell me how an AI combat droid infiltrated the Confederation and imitated one of its mogul's sons?"

"Doesn't look too good for us, does it?" said Guan-Sharick with a faint smile.

"Us?"

"Harrison," sighed the transmute, "a S'Cotar's quite mild compared to what you face in T'Lan-and to what you face on this vessel."

"And what is that?" asked the Terran.

"Look behind you."

John turned and saw the wall screen. On Implacable, when a screen wasn't in use, it displayed the Fleet coat-of-arms. This screen, though, held something quite different than ship-shield-and-sun: a six-fingered hand clutching the double helix of a DNA molecule.

"Crazy," he said, turning back to the S'Cotar.

"Megalomania, in Freud's schemata," said Guan-Sharick. "Mad, certainly, but also brilliant. The R'Actolians are far better geneticists than the ones who created them, R'Actol and her group."

"You'd think they could have fixed themselves," said the Terran.

"Why?" shrugged the blonde. "They see nothing wrong with themselves. It's the rest of the galaxy they want to correct.''

"And what is this charming room?" asked John, looking about.

"The Council Chamber of R'Actol." Swiveling the chair, the S'Cotar rose, pacing. "Here the Seven met to plot the extermination of mankind.'' Guan-Sharick touched the table. "From-here they planned strategy against the Empire. And when they were beaten, their thousands of dreadnoughts destroyed, sitting right where you are now, Harrison, Z'Tui, their leader, proposed they seek the immortality of their own devices." The S'Cotar stopped pacing, turning to John. "Motion carried."

"At least they were defeated." John sat up, his shoulder now almost forgotten.

The S'Cotar shook its head. "To defeat the R'Actolian biofabs, the Empire had to build mindslavers. That, more than any other event, started the Empire slipping down the long, bloody road into the Long Night-the night the K'Ronarins are only now awakening from. And though the R'Actolians may have been defeated, they won't have really lost until the Seven are dead."

"And T'Lan is here to kill them?" asked John.

"T'Lan's here to appropriate the slaver and intercept that commwand. It would prefer to keep the Seven alive- it's difficult to run the vessel without them-not impossible, but difficult. As long as the R'Actolians are powerless, T'Lan isn't concerned with them. They're compelled not only to do as he says but to cooperate in every way. Though if a chance to regain command occurs, they'll seize it."

Guan-Sharick walked the length of the room, stopping at the chair to John's right. Hands gripping the chairback, the S'Cotar leaned forward intently. "You and I must keep the Seven alive."

John frowned. "Until the commwand's secured?"

"That certainly," nodded the S'Cotar. "But if the R'Actolians die, Harrison, we may all die. We need this dreadnought-and its secrets. It's the only ship in this universe that can stand against an AI battleglobe."