Stephen Berry - The AI War

"Get those flares up," said L'Wrona. A fading twilight circled them, with visibility down to about a hundred meters.

Nodding, the commando lieutenant raised the stubby flare gun and fired four quick rounds, sending new flares streaking to join the old ones. The K'Ronarins shielded their eyes as the harsh light returned, pushing the darkness back another hundred meters.

The gray host waited silently, bayonets gleaming in the new light, their ranks disappearing back into the darkness.

They watched each other for a moment, contemporary and ancient K'Ronarins, staring across millennia of blood and torment. Then the order was issued. Four horns sounded: two high, ringing notes, repeating twice, holding the last note for a moment.

Now, thought L'Wrona as the last note faded. "Fire!" he cried as the gray waves surged forward with a roar.

"Problems?" asked T'Lan, mockingly polite, watching the components falling beneath a hail of gunfire. "I thought you were going to turn the damper field off after your first debacle."

"Interference again," said the dry whisper. "Somehow the secondary transponders are being suppressed. But not by conventional means."

"Show me the suppression aura," he said. It came up on a telltale, a rotating blue-red matrix blocking all commands to the damper field nodules. "S'Cotar," announced the AI. "It snatched the Terran away, now it's helping the K'Ronarins."

"But why, T'Lan? They're enemies."

"I don't know," said the AI. It culled through millennia of memories-wars and battles, plots and intrigues, random data-nowhere was there a hint of why an alien species, defeated, virtually exterminated, would suddenly help its enemies against a foe. It bothered T'Lan. "I don't know," he repeated. "Give me a skipcomm channel to S'Hlu."

Futile, thought D'Trelna. He emptied his M16 in five long bursts and slammed in another magazine. Much too close, five components fell. Others took their place. The intersection rang to the sound of the bayonet cry. Futile and stupid to die like this, thought the commodore.

D'Trelna, said a cold whisper inside his head. Do exactly as I say, now, and some of you may live.

"J'Quel!" shouted L'Wrona above the screaming and the gunfire. The commodore was disappearing into the shuttle, the door cranking shut behind him.

"Captain!"

L'Wrona turned back to the assault. He and S'Til stood alone against a thousand shrieking demons. "Run!" he cried.

They made their final stand at the shuttle, back to back against the forward port landing strut, weapons at assault arms.

Silently, the components surrounded the shuttle, a watchful gray wall of blank faces. It was as if they'd expended the small allotment of emotion spared them by the R'Actolians and now stood awaiting recall.

The four corners of hell, indeed, thought L'Wrona, hands slippery with sweat. If the dead could walk, that's how they'd look. Soulwraiths, like J'Quel said. And what did D'Trelna think he was doing in there? Not like him to run.

"Captain," whispered S'Til, "they don't take us. Agreed?"

"Agreed," whispered L'Wrona. "Ammunition?"

"Three rounds, no more."

"I'm empty," he said. "Make sure you destroy our brains."

"And the commodore?"

Before L'Wrona could answer, the gray wall parted. A man strode into the circle-a strongly-built man with aquiline features and the gold comets of an Imperial admiral. He stopped at the point of L'Wrona's bayonet. "You've damaged us, Captain," he said. It was a cold, cultured voice, speaking High K'Ronarin with the accent of the Court-an accent the centuries had relegated to history tapes. "Many of us will never again experience their own bodies. My word to you, Captain-your brainpods will be part of the injured group. You'll suffer the wrath of those you've deprived and serve this ship forever."

As the component spoke, L'Wrona's gaze shifted from the green eyes to the faint scar that circled the cranium, a scar almost invisible in the dying light of the flares. "We are blood, Admiral K'Yal, you and I," said L'Wrona softly, in U'Trian. "By Tower and Oath, kinsman, I-"

"Tower and Oath, is it?" smiled the component in the same dialect. The smile vanished. "Your ancestor died long ago, my lord Captain-moments after entering Alpha Prime. His consciousness is now part of a greater cause than any he served while whole. And as for you, sir- you're meat. Just as are any who see this slaver. Meat for harvesting.

"You'll find, Captain," he said in a softer tone, "that the old verities slowly fade here, carried away by the long wash of the centuries. Others more enduring will replace them." He turned to the waiting circle. "Take them to processing."

"Good-bye, Captain," said S'Til as she pivoted, raising the rifle.

The lights came on, bringing with them the faint whine of the shuttle's cannon tracking down, locking on the massed components.

S'Til and L'Wrona dived under the craft as the Mark 44's opened fire, red fusion bolts burning into the gray ranks.

Prone, captain and commando fired their blasters at the husk of Admiral K'Yal. The component fell to the deck, its back and chest blown open.

Blaster shrilling and the explosion of fusion bolts mingled with the screams of the components as the turret went into rapid fire, ringing the craft with charred heaps of fused human flesh.

The three K'Ronarins were suddenly deprived of targets as the remaining components collapsed, untouched by blaster fire.

After a moment, L'Wrona and S'Til crawled out from cover as D'Trelna emerged from the airlock, a big M32 blast rifle in his hands.

"That last lot may not be dead," said the commodore, pointing at the unmarked bodies, "but I don't think they'll be bothering us-there aren't enough of them."

The air was redolent with burning flesh, a sweet, cloying smell that threatened the stomach.

"Why did they fall?" asked L'Wrona, holstering his blaster.

"To avoid further trauma to the collective consciousness of Alpha Prime," said a new voice.

Guan-Sharick-as-blonde stood by the airlock, hands nicked into its pockets, smiling at the two leveled blasters.

"Butcher!" hissed L'Wrona, drawing his side arm.

"Hold!" ordered D'Trelna, interposing his bulk between L'Wrona and the S'Cotar. "You know the rules, H'Nar-no bug squashing till we hear it out." He turned to the S'Cotar. "That was your doing-the damper field, I mean."

The blonde nodded. "Between us, we've given the R'Actolians their worst day in centuries. And the day's still new."

"I never did thank you for that Terra Two warning," said the commodore.

"Enlightened self-interest," said the S'Cotar. "Do I get the Valor Medal?"

"You get a chance to speak a few convincing sentences before I let L'Wrona loose," said D'Trelna. "You do remember virtually exterminating his world, a few years ago?"

The blonde shrugged. "It was in the way."

"That's one sentence," said L'Wrona. His face was quite pale.

The S'Cotar ignored him, looking at D'Trelna. "Harrison's at the bridge, going up against T'Lan. The commwand is there, too. I've done all I can to make it an even contest."

"What is T'Lan?" asked the commodore.

"An AI combat droid."

"Gods," said D'Trelna. "And K'Tran?"

"Heading for the bridge," said the S'Cotar. "I think, Commodore, K'Tran's reach is finally going to exceed his grasp."

"Anything else?"

"To quote K'Tran, Commodore," smiled the S'Cotar, " 'See you in hell.' This"-a hand gestured toward the dead-"is only its outer circle."

Guan-Sharick was gone.

"Someday I'll kill that thing, J'Quel," said L'Wrona softly. "I swear."

"Yes," said the commodore, nodding slowly, "I believe you will, H'Nar. But I don't think you'll be very proud of it.''

"I trust I missed a good fight?" said a cheery voice. It was Egg, floating out through the airlock.