Stephen Berry - The AI War

D'Trelna looked up. "And I appreciate it," he said.

"I know you're not a line officer, N'Trol. but aren't you at all curious as to why we're not dead yet?'' He pointed at the screen. Even at minimum magnification, Devastator more than filled the scan, only a small portion of it visible. ''They should have wiped us before we'd left that satellite."

N'Trol stared at the screen, reading the datatrail. "You launched us directly at the center of the battleglobe as the satellite passed it. They're not firing…"

He looked at the commodore. "The landing force. They've taken out the guns that could have ranged us."

"Yes. And we hope the AIs have pulled out their gun crews to fight the landing party. No guns and no gun crews-we should make it. We were close when we launched, and once we're inside their shield, it'll be too late to get those guns manned-even if they've restored fusion feeds to them. We can take them out."

"And the shield?" said N'Trol, staring at the shimmering blue now filling the screen.

D'Trelna raised a finger, holding it poised over a button. "Captain L'Wrona and his party have by now installed a shield override trigger. I have only to push this little switch and that great big shield will flick off.''

"Did L'Wrona report it as accomplished?" asked the engineer.

"Communications are being jammed," said the commodore. "But L'Wrona will have done it."

"How's your signal going to get through, then?"

"It's on a little-used AI frequency."

"R'Gal," said the engineer.

"R'Gal," nodded the commodore.

"Better push that button now," said N'Trol uneasily, eyeing a red-flashing figure on the datatrail. "We're going to hit."

D'Trelna glanced at the screen, then stabbed at the switch.

Nothing happened.

Again and again, D'Trelna pushed. Devastator's shield came closer, a brilliant azure blazing in the screen.

N'Trol leaped for a communicator. "Engineering! Emergency override! Full reverse!"

"K'Lana, collision alert! Advise all decks," said D'Trelna, standing.

An alarm sounded, three sharp, ascending notes, over and over.

D'Trelna and N'Trol watched as the blue shield of the battleglobe and the faint haze marking Implacable's shield rushed toward each other.

"Can you pull us out?" asked D'Trelna, watching the board.

"No," said the engineer, also watching the board. "Can she take it?"

"No. She'll break up," said N'Trol. "Should have stayed on the satellite, Commodore."

"Man was meant to strive, not hide, Engineer," said D'Trelna, gripping his chair.

"Comforting," said N'Trol, grabbing for a railing as the shields met.

"First post," whispered R'Gal, floating just behind the humans. The troopers, John, and L'Wrona walked double file, hands behind their heads.

A broad ramp circled the interior of the Operations tower-a ramp blocked by the white haze of a forcefield and three blades.

R'Gal drifted to the front of the column. "Prisoners for interrogation," he said.

"Authorization and security level?" challenged the lead blade.

R'Gal gave it and waited, hoping. After what seemed a long time to the humans, the shield flicked off. "Pass," said the lead blade.

"How did you do that?" asked John as they double-timed up the ramp.

"Generic security code issued to senior command staff," said the AI. "Programmed into these ships when they were built and never changed."

"And if they had been?" said L'Wrona.

"It would have been messy," said R'Gal.

The same technique worked at the next three posts. At the last post though, the one at the entrance to the Operations center, there was a problem.

"No interrogation's scheduled or needed," said the human-adapted AI facing them. He glanced at the prisoners. "They should have been disposed of outside."

"I received a direct order from the bridge to bring them here," said R'Gal. "Let me speak with the captain."

"Come with me," said the officer. He turned to the five blades hovering in front of the forcefield. "Watch them," he said, pointing to the prisoners.

The forcefield flicked off. As the officer stepped through, R'Gal sent a bolt exploding into the field's control unit, then fired three bolts into the hostile AI. The officer staggered back, half his head blown away, and crumpled against the bulkhead, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

All five blades whirled to engage R'Gal. Blue bolts snapped and hissed, half a dozen striking R'Gal. Two of the blades went down, then the rest fell to a sudden ragged volley of fusion fire, taken from behind as the humans pulled their blasters and opened fire.

"Assault!" cried L'Wrona, leading the charge into the heart of Devastator.

Moving slowly, tilting to the right, R'Gal started to follow.

The line of light reached the tower. "Face about," ordered S'Lat with a hand signal. Zahava was busying herself at the massive double doors guarding the entrance.

The twenty-five surviving troopers turned, backs to the black metal of the tower, staring into the thinning fog.

Zahava set the blastpak's timer and stepped away, waving everyone against the tower wall.

It was a precise, almost surgical explosion, punching out all but the doors' far corners.

Zahava leading, the attackers poured into the tower, exchanging fire with the first security post, killing the guards.

With a quick underhand toss, she and S'Lat rolled grenades into the forcefield. Overloaded beyond tolerance by the twin explosions, the field disappeared in a blinding white flash.

Moving at a dead run, the troopers charged up the ramp.

"Hostile vessel approaching," reported combat control.

"Batteries to open fire," ordered the captain.

"She's directly over this sector," said the first AI. "Those guns are not manned."

"Rotate the globe, bring other batteries to bear."

"She's holding synchronous course relative to this sector," came the reply after a moment, "and continues to approach at max. She'll break up against the shield."

"I no longer trust our shield," said the captain. "Recall gunnery personnel," he ordered, moving to shield control.

"Still at full strength?" he asked.

The shield control AI nodded. "Yes, sir. Hostile vessel has no chance of penetrating."

"Sir." said combat control, "senior blade reports humans advancing again."

The captain gave the equivalent of a mental shrug. "There's no danger from the few that are left. Whoever ordered them in should be shot. Any reports on the saboteurs?"

"Contact lost on level fifty-nine."

"Have them found-they've already hurt us twice. And give me a twenty-count to hostile vessel's destruction."

"Yes, sir."

The captain drifted to the window, watching the point where Implacable would break up, hoping to see the explosion.

"Twenty… nineteen…"

At "eleven" a security alarm began screeching. The four duty blades rushed for the doorway, only to be blown apart by a fusillade of blaster fire as the commandos charged in.

John and L'Wrona fought their way to the shield control, gunning down its AI as he opened fire, bolts flashing from his eyes.

"Pray I remember this, Harrison," said L'Wrona as John guarded his back. The captain tapped a black button three times, then pulled a small green lever.

Standing beside N'Trol, a death grip on his chairarm, D'Trelna closed his eyes as they crashed into the shield.

So this is death, he thought: silence.

Someone nudged him. "You can open your eyes. Commodore," said N'Trol. "Through some miracle their shield went down."

D'Trelna opened his and saw for the first time a battleglobe stripped of its covering. "A world of metal and guns, forged by hate," he said, recalling R'Gal's description.

He pressed the commkey. "Gunnery, cover all batteries around that Operations tower." He read the tacscan. "Mark four one seven nine. Don't fire unless fired at."