Stephen Berry - The AI War

"What is that?" D'Trelna jerked a thumb toward the mindslaver.

"Let's let the computer tell you," said R'Gal, touching a complink. "Computer. Tactical-Imperative. Authentica-tor Prime One Four Nine. R'Actolian biofabs, history."

The computer's pleasant contralto spoke for a time.

"Alpha Prime," said K'Tran, almost to himself. "Of course." He swiveled the command chair. "A'Tir, Blue Nine's the R'Actol Quadrant."

"The what?" she said, busy trying to drift them closer to Implacable and the mindslaver, now almost back to their original positions.

"The Empire suppressed the information. So did the Confederation." He shook his head. "Had I known this assignment was in the R'Actol Quadrant, A'Tir, we'd have done something safer-like raiding FleetOps."

She turned from her work. "You going to tell me what a R'Actolian is?" she asked, pushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. "And what it has to do with that monstrosity?" She nodded at the screen.

"What do you know about mindslavers?"

"Built and abolished by the Empire. Run by brains ripped from living bodies. Twenty miles of magical death, capable of engaging and destroying a modern sector fleet. Weapons, navigation and computation systems far in advance of anything we have now."

"And all made possible by those living human brains," said K'Tran. "Brains preserved in variable stasis and bathed by a constant nutrient flow."

"And the R'Actolians?"

"You won't read it in Archives, but the R'Actolians built the first mindslavers. And a woman, Number One, made the R'Actolians."

"S'Helia R'Actol," said Implacable''s computer, "was the sector governor of Quadrant Blue Nine under the Emperor H'Tan. She was also one of the finest of the High Imperial geneticists. A woman with Imperial ambition, R'Actol took advantage of her position and the relative isolation of her post to conduct illegal genetic experiments on a grand scale. She wanted a superior, self-propagating warrior race, obedient to her. She was able to achieve all but the last goal. Never more than a thousand, the R'Actolian biofabs quickly dispatched R'Actol and her forces, then went on to invent the symbiotechnic dreadnought-''

"Mindslaver," said K'Raoda.

"Mindslaver," agreed the computer. "A fleet of mindslavers that almost toppled the Empire, striking without warning from Blue Nine. Only when the Empire built their own mindslavers in overwhelming numbers were the R'Actolians believed exterminated."

"And this quadrant, Blue Nine?" asked D'Trelna.

"Abandoned," said the computer. "Some one hundred and forty-three inhabited planets had been stripped of their people by the R'Actolians, the people then stripped of their brains for use in the mindslavers.

"By the time the last R'Actolians sought the braincased immortality of their last mindslaver, the struggle had all but bankrupted the Empire. The R'Actolian War marked the end of the High Imperial epoch and the beginning of the Late, with its decay and decadence."

"We are waiting," whispered the mindslaver.

"What is manning that ship, R'Gal?" demanded D'Trelna, turning from the screen to the colonel.

"The disembodied brains of psychotic geniuses sixty centuries dead," said the colonel.

"And we have to send someone over there," said L'Wrona.

"I'd go, but I've a S'Cotar to catch," said R'Gal.

"Go catch it then," said D'Trelna. R'Gal headed for the door.

"Sometime between this crisis and the next, Colonel, you and I are going to have a long talk," added the commodore. "Clear?"

"Clear," said the colonel with a curt nod. The doors closed behind him.

"I'll go, sir," said K'Raoda.

"Actually, it's my turn, sir," said T'Ral.

Other voices vied with his as the whole bridge crew volunteered.

D'Trelna help up his hands. "Wait. The only fair thing is to draw-"

An alarm beeped. "Weapons fire, hangar deck," said the computer. "Weapons fire, hangar deck."

"Commandos are responding, Captain," said K'Lana after a moment. "I'm unable to contact flight control."

"Keep trying," ordered L'Wrona. "You and you"-he pointed at the two black-uniformed commandos flanking the doors-"with me. J'Quel?"

"Go," waved D'Trelna. "I'll entertain Alpha Prime."

"Won't… budge," grunted John, pulling with all his strength on the recessed door grip. Hangar deck lay just the other side.

The descent down the ladder had seemed interminable. It's got to be less than a mile, John had kept assuring himself.

"Unless you've a better idea…" said Zahava, drawing her blaster. "Do it."

She twisted the muzzle as they stepped back, aimed carefully at the center right edge of the door frame and fired. The red bolt lanced through the metal with a satisfying crack and shower of sparks.

"Now try it."

The door groaned open. They eased through, blasters held high and two-handed, eyes searching for movement.

Hangar deck was almost a mile long and half a mile wide. Stars twinkled through the faint shimmer of the atmosphere curtain at its launch end. Silver shuttles, stub-winged fighters and squat, black assault craft nestled in soft-lit berths beneath the distant ceiling. The vaulted silence was as deep as a cathedral's.

Nothing moved the length of the deck. There should have been at least ten crew on duty-maintenance techs, flight control personnel, commandos pulling security detail.

Right control was behind a concave sweep of black glass, set above the deck.

John touched Zahava's shoulder, pointing toward the stairway running to flight control. A body lay crumpled at the bottom.

Approaching cautiously, they saw it was a crewman- young, half his face torn away, his weapon holstered.

John jerked his head toward the top of the stairs. "Alert the bridge," he whispered. "I'll check around."

Nodding, she bounded silently up the stairs, disappearing into flight control.

John turned at a ripple of movement in one of the berths. A distant, brown-uniformed figure was slipping into a shuttle. Caution aside, he ran for the shuttle, boots ringing on the gray battlesteel.

It was a good hundred yards. He was halfway there when the n-gravs whined on. The ship lifted, passenger hatch slowly cycling shut.

Lungs bursting, he dived through the closing hatchway, sliding into the passenger section as the craft slid from its berth.

Bodies were sprawled throughout the small flight control area-three dead by blaster fire, two with their larynxes crushed, eyes bulging, tongues black and protruding.

Zahava was oblivious to the corpses. She stood watching helplessly as the shuttle silently traversed the length of the deck, pierced the atmosphere curtain and was gone.

After a long moment she called the bridge.

"There's a shuttle headed for the slaver," said T'Ral.

D'Trelna's head jerked up, looking at the screen. The silver craft was a quarter of the way out, heading for the darkened mass of Alpha Prime.

"Tal is on hangar deck," reported K'Lana. "The deck crew is dead. Commander T'Lan appears to have slaughtered them and stolen a shuttle. Harrison infiltrated the shuttle. His condition's unknown."

"Slaughtered?" said D'Trelna.

"That's what she said."

"Advise Captain L'Wrona. And respond a medical team to hangar deck."

"Do you want gunnery to…" began K'Raoda.

"No," said D'Trelna, shaking his head slowly. "I don't want to excite the mindslaver. But I'll bet you a month's pay, Mr. K'Raoda, that that hideous relic isn't through with us." He stared at the mindslaver and the shuttle for a moment, then touched the commlink. "N'Trol. D'Trelna. What's shield status?"

The engineer's worried face filled the pickup. "No status," he said. "No shield. Five major components are fused lumps. Some of the grid links are ash-never seen anything like it. And the hullside relay clusters…"