Stephen Berry - The AI War

With flawless precision, the AIs withdrew toward the tower, breaking into discernible units, each unit covering the next until all were gone.

Burnt and burning AIs lay everywhere.

"After them!" called Zahava, scrambling to her feet. Rifle at port, she started after the enemy, hoping the others were following, but not daring to look.

"This ship work now, Mr. N'Trol?" demanded D'Trelna as the engineer stepped onto the bridge.

N'Trol nodded, sinking into the empty captain's chair. His eyes were bloodshot, his uniform streaked with dirt and he smelled. "She works," he said wearily. "She could use a port overhaul, but she works."

"Excellent," nodded the commodore.

N'Trol sat up at something in D'Trelna's voice. "You're not going to take her into combat?''

"No," said D'Trelna, looking at the tacscan. "Not if all goes according to plan."

"Message from Alpha Prime, Commodore," said K'Lana. "What is it?" '

" 'Enemy in retreat. Am pursuing. Will rendezvous as planned. Luck.' "

"Acknowledge it, please," he said, watching the last of the target blips save one disappear from the tacscan.

"Window coming up, Commodore," said K'Raoda.

"Window?" said N'Trol, standing. "As in launch window?" he glanced at the tacscan. "This moon's almost on top of that battleglobe!"

"Indeed," said D'Trelna, swiveling his chair toward the first officer.

"You may lift ship and proceed, Mr. K'Raoda. And man battle stations."

Battle klaxon sounding, Implacable rose from the ruined base and headed at speed toward Devastator.

L'Wrona and John whirled at the sound of a throat clearing.

"Easy, gentlemen." R'Gal stepped into the corridor.

The other two lowered their weapons.

"Judging from the commotion topside, our assault force has landed. Did you set the shield trip?"

L'Wrona shook his head. "It was lost."

R'Gal stared at them, stunned. "Implacable will be destroyed."

"We're going to take their Operations area and lower the shield from there."

R'Gal shook his head. "You should have just blown the shield unit up."

"When we discussed that," said L'Wrona angrily, "you said they could replace it very quickly."

The AI held up a hand. "True," he said. "How many of you…?"

The captain turned and whistled twice. S'Til and two commandos appeared. They carried another trooper between them, his head swathed in bandages.

"That's it?" said the AI.

"They chewed us up, bit by bit, before we lost them," said John.

"Six of you, to attack Operations?" asked R'Gal, incredulous.

"We're going to attack it and take it," said L'Wrona with more conviction than he felt.

"And the security posts? You can't storm them with this pathetic force."

"We were going to face that when we got there," said John. "You have a better idea?"

R'Gal nodded. "Yes. Watch."

Nothing happened for a moment, then the AI's form began to soften, its contours shrinking into a blue-red blur that quickly reformed into a smaller, more compact shape: a security blade hovered before them, baleful red sensor scan shifting along its deadly front edge.

"Just hope the security posts are as convinced as you," said R'Gal, staring at the six blasters that pointed at him.

There was a faint scraping sound as the weapons were reholstered.

"My God!" said John. "Can you change into any of those?"

"I can change into any of me," said R'Gal. "Into any of the various evolutions I've been through, down the centuries.

"Now, please leave the wounded man here, along with one attendant, and all your rifles. Tuck those Ml lA's into your jackets."

"Detection equipment?" asked John, stuffing the blaster into his belt and refastening the jacket.

"Leave them to me," said R'Gal. "Along with all else, until we reach the heart of Operations-then open up."

"Blades," hissed S'Til as five of the killers rounded the corner, flying in a tight phalanx.

"Prisoners in custody," said R'Gal, switching languages.

"You took them by yourself?" said the phalanx leader, stopping in front of R'Gal.

"My comrades were destroyed," said R'Gal. "These"- he dipped toward the humans-"are for interrogation. Captain's orders."

"Well done," said the true blade. "We're reporting to the surface-the humans have forced a landing." With that they turned a tight circle and were gone.

"Deadly, efficient, but not very complex," sighed R'Gal, turning to the humans. "Very well, let's go, straight up the corridor to the lift. Keep in front of me, please. Oh, and Captain?"

"What?" said L'Wrona as S'Til detailed a corporal to stay with the wounded trooper.

"Please, try to look defeated."

Stephen Ames Berry

The AI War

L'Kor dived for cover, landing next to Zahava behind the shelter of a gun turret.

"Where is everyone?" said Zahava as the D'Linian low-crawled over to her, rifle atop his arms.

"Four and two squads are on our left," he said, sitting up to rest against the turret's gray battlesteel. "I sent a scout to find three through eight. She hasn't reported back."

Communications were gone, the tac channels a hopeless whine of high-powered jamming.

"And first squad?" said Zahava.

"We're first squad."

"Where's S'Lat?"

"She's my scout," said L'Kor.

Zahava rose, risking a look. The fog was just as thick as before, a slimy, yellow cloud hanging between the humans and the Operations tower, its mast light a dimly visible green through the murk.

First had come the fog-actually a highly toxic nerve gas-then the blades had returned, silently hunting amid the thick poison, sensors unimpaired. They'd devastated the humans' advance: swooping, slicing and running, gone before the survivors could shoot. The assault had wavered, then scattered, breaking for cover. And the blades continued to hunt.

Zahava and L'Kor turned, rifles aiming at something materializing out of the fog. It was S'Lat.

The lieutenant sank down between them. "We'll all be dead very soon," she said, shaking her head. "They're wiping us, one by one."

Both D'Linians looked at Zahava. "Retreat?" said the Terran. "Is that what you're thinking?"

"Yes," nodded S'Lat. "Back to the boats."

"And how are the boats going to get through the shield?" she asked.

The two looked at each other. "You're right." said L'Kor. He stood. "Can't go back, can't stay here, might as well-"

The blade knifed out of the fog, sliced off L'Kor's head and was gone, a tumbling corpse in its wake. The major's head rolled from its helmet, coming to rest against a sensor pod, the eyes wide, surprised. There was blood everywhere.

"Don't puke!" snapped Zahava, seeing S'Lat's face. "You'll jam the suit recycler."

The lieutenant looked away, biting her lip. "What was he saying?" she asked, after a moment. "About not staying here?"

"He was saying we have to go forward, or they'll finish us," said the Terran.

Zahava took her battletorch from her belt, flicked it on and then twisted the forward rim until the beam contracted into a fierce blue globe of light, too bright to look on. Rifle on her hip, torch held high, the Terran stepped from cover and began walking toward the Operations tower.

S'Lat caught up with her a second later, her own torch held high, rifle ready. By the time they'd reached the next turret, more troopers had fallen in beside them, torches alight, rifles ready.

Silently, they moved forward, a long thin line of blazing light cutting a swath through the yellow death. When the blade sorties came, they were met by massed fusion fire, beating them back into the mist.

Through it all. Zahava moved as though in a trance, her eyes fixed on the winking green light that marked their objective.

"You're going to get us all killed," said N'Trol, standing over D'Trelna, who sat watching the tacscan. "Always expected you would. Commodore, but I resent your doing it now, just after we fixed this ancient hulk for you."