Stephen Berry - The AI War

"Leaving us alone for now."

Both looked up at the main screen. Five long, gray ships hung above Terra-resurrected Imperial cruisers, bristling with weapons batteries and instrument pods.

"The less I see of that cheery face…" said K'Raoda.

The doors hissed open again. D'Trelna came onto the bridge, a tired-looking man in a wrinkled, brown duty uniform and holstered blaster.

"Morning, J'Quel," said L'Wrona, turning toward D'Trelna.

The commoddre nodded absently, standing beside the captain's station, eyes on the screen. "H'Nar," he said quietly, "an order's being issued for my arrest. S'Gan will be directed to execute it."

The captain frowned, adjusting the resolution on a telltale. "The Imperial party?"

"Does everyone know this but me?"

"You're not for them, J'Quel, therefore you're against them. You could be a grave threat to them if you ran for Council."

"You're out of your mind, H'Nar."

"Am I?" The captain stood. He was a sharp contrast to the older officer: tall, thin, with aquiline features, his uniform impeccably cut, silver inlaid blaster grips protruding from the gleaming v'arx leather holster.

"Those slime profited from the war-they and their friends in the industrial combines. And now they're profiting from the cleanup. Billions dead, millions brainwiped, scores of planets in ruins. The restoration contracts will run for years. And this talk of keeping Fleet at wartime strength, 'reclaiming' the old Imperial quadrants. Inspired by greed, all of it."

"Greed and glory lust," said D'Trelna. "Here's something you don't know, H'Nar." Quickly, he told L'Wrona about the assassination team and R'Gal. The captain showed surprise only at R'Gal's name.

"You know what R'Gal is, J'Quel?"

The commodore shook his head.

"He's a Watcher."

D'Trelna's eyes widened. "A Watcher? A S'Cotar hunter on this ship? Gods of my fathers."

"Admiral S'Gan for the commodore," said the comm officer, K'Lana.

D'Trelna smiled tightly. "Perhaps it's about the supply requisitions.

"Put it on the board, K'Lana. You should all hear this."

The five cruisers vanished from the main screen. A woman looked out at them, her graying hair tied back in a severe bun, the golden triangle of an admiral second on her collar. Watchful green eyes scanned Implacable''s bridge. S'Gan sat at a traq-wood desk identical to D'Trelna's, backdropped by a slab of armorglass and a view of Terra's moon. Her gaze settled on the commodore. "J'Quel," she said.

"Admiral." He nodded, sweaty hand gripping the leather back of the empty command chair.

"Important people want your ass in the brig, Commodore," she said, raising a steaming cup of fata to her lips, sipping.

"Really?"

"You don't seem very surprised."

"I had some warning."

She shrugged. "No matter. This"-she held a pink commsheet disdainfully between thumb and forefinger- "has the wrong sign-off. Fleet Security can only issue orders of arrest over the signature of a FleetOps flag officer. This bears the signature of a Councilman and is thus not a lawful order." The paper fluttered to the desk top.

"I've requested clarification, D'Trelna. It'll take a while, going deferred priority. Meantime, I've received orders to reinforce Commodore A'Wal. The corsair K'Tran's base has been located. I'm leaving one ship on station off Terra. The rest of us are joining the blaster party."

D'Trelna and L'Wrona exchanged glances. "May we join the fun, Admiral?" said D'Trelna. "We owe K'Tran."

"No." She put her cup down. "The instant I receive that corrected order, I'm sending a shuttle for you. Head out on your mission-now."

"Thank you, Admiral."

She crumpled the cup, tossing it off scan. "Don't thank me, D'Trelna. Just do your job-find out if there's anything to this Trel thing. I'll deliver your compliments to K'Tran." Something tugged at her lips-it might have been a smile. "Will a Mark Eighty-eight fusion salvo do?"

"It will," said the commodore. "Luck. You're going to need it, out there in the Blue Nine."

"Luck to you, too," said D'Trelna as the view of space and S'Gan's flotilla returned to the screen.

L'Wrona turned to his first officer. "Make for jump point at flank, T'Lei. You have the Trel coordinates plotted?"

"Jump plotted and set, Captain." said the young commander.

"K'Lana, all-band communications silence till after we jump."

"Yes, sir."

"Mission briefing, J'Quel?" asked L'Wrona.

The commodore shook his head. "Not until after the last jump." He turned for the door. "Let's keep the good news to ourselves for a few weeks, H'Nar."

"Where will you be?"

"Seeing to the cleaning of my quarters. Have medical send a casualty team there."

The gray doors hissed shut behind him.

"Make for jump point. Commander K'Raoda," ordered L'Wrona. taking the command chair. "Shield to battleforce. Flank speed."

K'Raoda touched a key. Far amidships and deeply armored, the computer responded, executing the first of a series of mission commands. "Making for jump point at flank, sir," said the first officer.

Surrounded by the faint blue shimmer of her shield, Implacable slipped out of Earth orbit.

"Blue Nine?" said T'Ral as the captain spoke to K'Lana.

"They haven't gone shipwide with that." said K'Raoda dryly, watching the jump approach figures thread across a telltale.

"When do they tell us?"

"Briefing, I imagine. By which time everyone will know." He nodded at the main screen. "Want to say good-bye to Terra. Y'Gal?"

''We almost got killed there half a hundred times, T'Lei." He looked up as S'Gan's flotilla vanished and Terra shrank to just another small light. "It was wild, wasn't it?" he smiled.

"Sure was. Will we ever see it again?"

T'Ral returned to his chores. "You know what they used to say, when a man died on Fleet duty?" said K'Raoda, returning to his instruments.

K'Raoda watched the light disappear, then looked at T'Ral. " 'Shipped into Blue Nine,' " he said quietly.

Neither said anything until they reached jump point.

Stephen Ames Berry

The AI War

"There are other contractors in this quadrant with your skills, K'Tran," said B'Rol with a smile, setting down his drink. The hard blue points of his eyes belied the laugh lines crinkling them. To the uninitiated, B'Rol was just another restaurant owner-a jovial man, grown round on his own rich food and the easier times since the war's end.

K'Tran knew what lay beneath that facade: a man as hard and as cold as himself. "There aren't any in this quadrant with the resources your client needs," he said. "If you think you can do better-luck." He started to rise.

A surprisingly strong hand gripped his arm, pulling him back to his seat. "Let's not be hasty, Captain. Another drink?"

"It's your liquor."

Catching the server's eyes, B'Rol held up two fingers.

There were three restaurants worthy of the name in S'Tak. B'Rol's was atop the Bureau of Agriculture building and boasted a view of S'Takport. Sitting at the bar, the two watched as an agro freighter came gliding in on silent n-gravs, two miles of oblong black hull against a perfect blue sky.

"It's just that since you failed your last mission," said B'Rol as the drinks came, "my client's uneasy about employing you again."

"A fluke." KTran sipped his drink-a tart, yellow wine from the southern hills of STak. "If my ex-commander's brother hadn't been aboard Implacable, the mission would have succeeded." He glanced approvingly at himself in the bar glass-a wiry, light-complexioned man with thinning hair and the casual, well-cut clothes of a prosperous merchant.

"Yes. But he was aboard. And it did fail." B'Rol held up a hand as KTran started to protest. "Because of your prior efforts on his behalf, my client is willing to forget that fiasco."